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MY NEW CURATE 



A RELIGIOUS DRAMA 



BY JOHN J. DOUGLASS, A, M 

Author of 
"THE EXILE OF ERIN." 



Copyrighted, Owned and Controlled by 

BROTHER BENJAMIN, C. F. X, 

President, St. Xavier's College, 

Louisville, Ky. 



^^ 






MY KEW^ CURATE 

A RELIGIOUS DRAMA 



-*- 



BY JOHN J. DOUGLASS, A. M. 

Author of 
"THE EXILE OF, ERIN." 



/■ 
Copyrighted, Oivned and Controlled by 

\ BROTHER BENJAMIN, C. F. X. 

President^ St. Xavier's College, 

Louisville, Ky. 



ST. MARY'S INDUSTRIAL SCHOOL. ELECTRIC PRESS. 






DEC -6 1919 



'GID 5344^ 



/v»-< 



TMDQO r\ r\r>. ; *» 



MY NE\S^ CURATE 

By CANON SHEEHAN 

Story Published by 
MARLIER PUBLISHING CO., BOSTON 

Dramatized By 
JOHN J. DOUGLASS, A. M., LL. B. 

Time : 1876. Place. Kilronan, Ireland. 

Act I.— FAITH. Scene— Father Dan's Study. 

Act II. — HOPE. Scene — Outside Chapel and Rectory. 

Act III.— CHARITY. Scene— Along the Beach at Kilronan. 

Act IV.— GRACE. Scene— Father Dan's Study. 



This play is a copyright edition. No one is allowed to pro- 
duce it without receiving permission from the owner of the 
copyright and paying a royalty. ; Income from this source is 
used for the education of young men as teachers in the Xaver- 
ian Brotherhood. 

This is a refined, religious drama, interspersed with true 
Irish wit. 

Address all letters to Brother Benjamin, St. Xavier's College, 
Louisville, Ky. 



CAST 

Father Dan, Parish Priest at Kilronan 

Father Letheby, the New Curate. 

Jem Deady, Tiler and Koofer, President of the ''Holy Terrors" 

Mrs. D'Arcy, Father Dan's Housekeeper and Sacristan 

Captain Campion, of Her Majesty's Service 

Beatta Campion, Captain Campion's Daughter 

Captain Ormsby, Inspector of the Coast Guards, an Infidel 

Fagan, an Informer 

Hale, alias Hogan, Pagan's English Friend 

Alice Moylan, a Blind Girl , 

Mary, Alice Moylan's Sister 

Nance, the Outcast... 

Mike Murphy 

Mr. Murphy and Mrs. Murphy, Evicted Tenants 

Jamesey and Mary, Children of Mrs. D'Arcy 

Diggins, a Bailiff 

Bobbs, his assistant 

Chairman of the Merchants 

Mr. Blake a Merchant 

Factory Forewoman 

Peasants, Soldiers, Sailors, Fishermen, Factory Girls, Altar 
Boys, Choir Singers, Merchants, etc. 



MY NEW CURATE 

ACT I. 

SCENE: Father Dan's Study. Very Plain, with religious 
furnishings. Window, Doors R. & C, Table, Chairs, Arm- 
chair, Fireplace, Bookcase, Lamp lighted. Large picture of 
Madonna on wall. 

Father Dan discovered in armchair, musing. Mary and 
Jamesey — two small children — discovered seated on floor; 
Mary reading large picture book, and Jamesey building house 
Avith toy blocks — Time, Night. 

Fr. Dan (to himself) Well, after all it's all my own fault, 
this sudden change of curates, a deserved rebuke from his Lord- 
ship, the Archbishop. I was too free with my tongue. In a 
thoughtless moment, half in earnest, half in jest, I said, "What 
do I care for the Archbishop? I am a parish priest, and in- 
dependent of anyone. So what can he do?" The imperti- 
nence was carried to his Lordship, and he answered, ''What can 
I do ? I can send him a new curate that will break his heart in 
six weeks." Hence the removal of my life-long friend and 
companion, Fr. Tom, and the arrival here one week ago of this 
learned Fr. Letheby, D.D. Humph! A Doctor of Divinity 
no less! Well, his Lordship has certainly trained a big gun 
against the heart of plain Fr. Hanrahan. But will he hit the 
mark? Well, time will tell, time will tell, (resumes reading.) 

Jamesey (surveying his block-house) Look, Mary, I've done 
it. 

Mary — Isn't it grand? (touches blocks and they fall down.) 

Jamesey (Crying) Now you've gone and spoiled it. - 

Mary — I didn't mean to, Jamesey. Honest ! I didn't. 

Jamesey — Yes you did too. I'm going to tell ma. 

Fr. Dan — Here! Here! stop your quarreling, you little pa- 
gans. 

Mrs. D. (off stage in loud angry tones) ''Dirt," says he, 
"Dirt." ^ 



Fr. Dan — Ho ! Ho ! here comes ycJur mother now and in a 
fine rage. Now you'll catch it. 

(Enter Mrs. D. M., in a splutter and throws bunch of keys 
at the feet of Fr. Dan.) 

Mrs. D. — There ! and -may no child of mine pray over my 
grave if I iver tuch thim agin. 

Fr. Dan (quietly) Well, Mrs. D'Afcy, what's gone wrong? 

Mrs. D. — Everything begorry. Wisha, where in the world 
did you get him? or where did he come from a tall, atall? 

Fr. Dan — You mean my new curate, I suppose, 

Mrs. D. — Yerra! who else could I mane, the son of a jook? 
Humph! he's more the son of a blacksmith, I say. Didn't 
Mrs. Moriarity tell me she sold socks to his owld father over 
in Kilkeen? An' the loikes of him comes her complainin' of 
dacent people? 

Fr. Dan — But, my good woman, what has the priest done to 
cause this explosion? 

Mrs. D. — Done, is it? Yerra, I'm jist chokin' to tell ye of 
it. Well, he walks in the sachristy this evenin' wid all the airs 
of the Lord Liftinint, if ye please, an' begins a fussin' an' 
fumin' about the holy place. ''Dirt," says he. 

Fr. Dan— Dirt? ' 

Mrs. D. — Yiss, yer rivirince, dirt, D-double E-R-T, dirt. 
Where? says I. "Look at that," says he. An' father, what 
do you think? 

Fr. Dan — I'm sure I can't imagine. 

Mrs. D. — He actually points an' calls the swapin's of the 
altar an' clane ashes, "dirt." "Yerra," glory be to St. Patrick," 
says I to meself, "What nixt?" "Look at that altar cloth," says 
he. "It's a disgrace to the church." Now Father Dan, I lave 
it to yourself, whin was that altar-cloth washed last? 

Fr. Dan — Oh, about a week ago, I should judge. 

Mrs. D. — Six weeks to the minute, an' it's as clane to-day as 
whin it came from the tub. But, says your grand cojutor, with 
his gran' accent, "Do you call that clane wid thim. drippins of 
the candles on it?" "Yerra, what harm is that?" says I. "Wax 
that fell from the blessed candles?" Wid that he thritins to 
report me to yerself, but begorrah, I ups an' towld him I'd 
have me own story first, an' now I tells ye Father Dan, I won't 

— 6 — 



stand it, if I have to beg me bread from door to door. 

Fr. Dan — Well, Mrs. D'Arcy, — 

Mrs. D. — I say I won't stand being towld I'm dirty, (sob- 
bing and busy with handkerchief). Shure, a poor woman's 
character it all she has. 

Fr. Dan — But, my good woman — 

Mrs. D. — Shure, didn't the Bishop tell me he could see his 
face in thim candle sticks an' that it was the natest vestry in 
the diocese. But this new cojutor, wid his English ways an' 
his pianney an' his gran' firniture. Begor! no one can stand 
him. We must clear out. (busy with handkerchief) An' 
me after me eighteen years of scrubbin' an' washin' an' ironin', 
wid thim two blissed orphans on me hands, must go to forin 
countries to earn me bread. 

Fr. Dan (rising and starting to pick up the keys) Well, 
perhaps Mrs. D'Arcy — 

Mrs. D. (quickly) No, Father Dan, if you wint down on yer 
two binded knees an' said, Mrs. D'Arcy, I deplore ye to take up 
thim keys an' go back to your dooties as me housekeeper an' 
sachristan, I M^ouldn't. No, get some whipster that will suit 
his rivirince. Mary D'Arcy ain't clane enough. — going to 
door — 

Fr. Dan (picking up the keys and crossing) My! my! but 
this is a pretty kettle of fish. 

Mrs. D. (to children) Come, me poor darlin's we'll find 
a night's lodgin' over at Mrs. Moriarity's, (children cross to 
her). The trifle of money ye owe me, yer rivirence, ye 
can sind over in the mornin' before I start for Ameriky. Good- 
night; (starts to exit, returns) An' if ye don't mind givin' me 
a character — 

Fr. Dan — Wait a bit: Mary, who gave yoii that beautiful 
picture book today? 

Mary (crossing to his L.) Father Letheby, isn't he good 
Daddy Dan? 

Fr. Dan — Yes. And, Jamesey (Jamesey crosses to his R.) 
Who gave you that box of toys? 

Jamesey — Father Letheby, and he showed me how to make 
a house out of them too. 

Fr. Dan — Yes. And didn't he say to me tonight that you 



and Mary were the two sweetest darling little angels in all Kil- 
ronan, and that your mother ought to be proud of two such 
precious jewels as yourselves? 

Mrs. D. (from door) Did the new cojutor say thim words, 
Father Dan? 

Fr. Dan — :He did indeed, and paid you other compliments 
that would make you blush, especially about your cooking. 
Now, what have you to say ? 

Mrs. D. (slowly) Well, under thim. conditions, I'll consint 
to give him another trial (comes down stage) But, rcmimber, 
tell his rivirince, whin he comes back from the sick call over 
to Bantry, te|l him, Mary D'Arcy ain't ''DIRTY." I'll 
trouble you'for thim ke3^s, if ye plase (takes keys from Fr. 
Dan) Come, me darlins, 'tis time ye said your prayers and 
were in bed (goes to door) 

Jamesey and Mary — Goodnight, Daddy Dan. 

Fr. Dan — Good-night, my dears, and may aligels watch 
over your dreams (children exit) 

(Jem Deady heard off stage singing ''The wearing of the 
Green.") (He is seen passing by the window in the midst of 
song.) (Jem knocks on door.) 

Mrs. D. — There's Jem Dead}^, your rivirince. That's his 
knock. 

Fr. Dan — And his infernal singing. It's the pledge for life 
he's after again, I know. But tell the vagabond I won't see 
him tonight, (sits at table reading.) (Mr^. D. exits). This 
fellow is thB plague of my life, a perennial source of mischief. 
It's at a rope's end he'll finish his career I'm thinking, (re- 
enter Mrs. D'Arcy, quickly.) 

Mrs. D. — He says he must see you father, it's a matter of life 
or death, he says. 

Fr. Dan (rising) Ijife or death? then admit him at once. 

Mrs. D. (calling off stage) Come in Jem. 

(Enter Jem Deady, twirling his hat awkwardly and with 
apparent bashfulness.) '. 

Jem — Good evenin'. Father Dan. 

Fr. Dan — Good evening, Jem. What's this matter of life or 
death? No more trouble with the police I hope. 

Jem — None, since lasht night, yer rivirince, whin we dropped 



— 8 



one of the divilsin the duckpond by way of no harm. 

Fr, Dan (sitting in disgust) Oh, you incorrigible rascal? 

Jem (hesitatingly) But what brought me here is 

well that is to say I came to tell ye, father, that the roof 

of the chapel is lakin' again. 

Fr, Dan — What, again? Whj-, it was only last week you 
repaired it and guaranteed the job for a year. 

Jem — Thrue for yer rivirince ! but you see the big storm of 
Tuesday lasht upsit all me calculations, an' so now for the 
small price — 

Fr. Dan — Not another farthing. I've given you the last 
penny you'll ever see for repairing that roof. You vagabond, 
I'm beginning to think that every time you repair one leak you 
always leave two in its place on purpose. 

Jem (with injured innocence) Shure, father, ye don't think 
I'd be robbin' the Holy Church that way, do ye? 

Fr. Dan — I wouldn't put is past you, you rogue. (Mrs. 
D'Arcy laughs and exits.) 

Jem — Well, father, I'm hearty sorry for the bad opinion ye 
have of a poor honest boy like meself ; but I gives ye fair warnin' 
that accordin' to the almanac there's another big storm due for 
nixt Sunday mornin' and' if the roof of the chapel lakes down 
on the people at Holy Mass an' some of thim git^ "New Ma- 
honey" out of it, 'twill be yourself that'll be to blame an' not 
honest Jem Deady, tiler an' roofer — 

Fr. Dan — And schemer. Now home with you to your fam- 
ily ! and mind steer clear of the ale-house. 

Jem — Can't I have one wee drop, father? 

Fr, Dan — Not a single drop. Straight home with you. 

Jem (withdrawing up the stage) Well, all right father, as 
soon as the meetin's over. 

Fr, Dan — Meeting? What meeting? 

Jem (mysteriously) Shure, our secret pathriotic society, the 
"Holy Terrors," meet on the green tonight for drill, (noise of 
shouting in the distance off stage.) Begorrah, they're at it 
already. I must hurry or I'll miss the fun. Good night, 
father Dan, good night, (runs off. More shouting off stage,) 

Fr. Dan (rising and looking out window) Meeting and drill 
indeed. These poor fellows will amuse themselves playing at 



— 9 



soldiers, and probably catch pneumonia out of it, and there 
'twill end. Yes, for the day of Ireland's deliverance is yet 
afar off. (more shouts off stage) (enter Mrs. D'Arcy.) 

Mrs. D. (announcing) Miss Beatta Campion to see your 
rivirince. 

Fr. Dan — Admit her, Mrs. D'Arcy (exit Mrs. D.) I know 
well enough what Beatta wants. Poor little angel! Her 
young heart is almost broken over her father's falling away 
from the faith, (enter Beatta; has sad appearance.) 

Beatta — Your, Reverence, I have come to ask — 

Fr. Dan — Yes, I know my child, (they shake hands; he 
points her to chair) ''Be seated." (sits himself.) Well I 
saw your father .as I promised, and tried to persuade him to 
come to his Easter duty. But I had my labor for my pains. 

Beatta — Oh, his indifference in matters of religion is so hard 
to undeMand. But oh! how ardently I have prayed for his 
return to the practice of his faith. How many masses, how 
many communions have I offered up to obtain that grace ! 

Fr. Dan — Do not despair, my good child ; keep up your 
prayers and good works, and God, in His own tiipe and way, 
will surely answer you. (pause) 01^, by the way Beatta, who 
is that young man I see you with so much of late? 

Beatta — A friend of my father — Captain Ormsby, 

Fr. Dan — I hope his morals are as excellent as his looks. 

Beatta (Vitll enthusiasm) Oh, he's a perfect gentleman, 
a graduate of Trinity, an Inspector of the Coast Guards, and 
father says, he has a pension of two thousand a year, a good 
salary and great .expectations. 

Fr. Dan— YouV father told you all that, did he? Ho! Ho! 
I think I hear wedding bells. 

Beatta (Bashfully) Well, father has indeed spoken to me 
already of Mr. Ormsby — hesitates — 

Fr. Dan — Humph ! I thought so. -And how does my little 
girl regard the proposition? (she hesitates) Come, don't be 
afraid to tell Father Dan. 

Beatta — Well, I suppose I really do like Captain Ormsby, 
but.... but.... 

Fr. Dan — Come, my girl, out with it. 

Beatta — There— there is a very serious objection.... at least 

-10- \ 



on my part.... to our marriage. 

Fr. Dan — Objectioli to a rich, educated gentleman and an 
inspector of the Coast Guards? Bless me, what can it be? 

Beatta (slowly and sadly) He is a professed infidel. 

Fr. Dan (rising) An infidel? an infidel? My! My! but 
that is an objection, an insurmountable objection. No, 
Beatta, 'tis bad enough to have a father who is indifferent to 
God, but a husband who denies him, oh, never, never ! Besides, 
child, the rules of the Church. No, no, this match shall not 
be. I forbid the banns, I forbid the banns, (walks about) 
But, my child, has this young man no faith at all? 

Beatta — Well, you see father, he has travelled all over the 
world and seems to have taken his faith from his climate. Why 
he told me once that when in Cairo he had actually kissed the 
tooth of Buddha. 

Fr. Dan — Indeed! and what good did that operation do 
him? (walks about in thought) Humph! this is a hard case. 
My dearest parishioner has set her heart on this globe-trotter. 

Beatta — Oh, no father — 
' Fr. Dan — Yes you have, my child. I can read you like a 
book. But there's a great big wall in the way, and it won't 
do to repeat the tragedy of Pyramus and Thisbe. Now the 
question is how to make this young fellow a Christian, (takes 
a book from the case.) Have you tried. him with good books, 
Beatta? 

Beatta — Yes, father, with the best in print, but they seem 
to make no impression on him. 

Ft. Dan (replacing book) My! My! what's to be done, 
(pauses) Well, I see only one hope, our Lord and his Blessed 
Mother. So Beatta, get the mites of children to pray for this 
man's conversion and your father's. I can't understand how 
God can refuse the little ones anything. 

. Beatta (rising to go) I will, father. Thank you, good 
night. 

Fr. Dan — Just a minute. Another idea strikes me. My 
new curate, Father Letheby, is a great scholar, a Doctor of 
Divinity, just the person to put the fear of God into these un- 
believers. " - . 

Beatta — Oh, father, if you would only send him over to our 

—11— , 



house tomorrow, I'm sure it would do a world of good. 

Fr. Dan — I will, my child. Good night and God bless you, 
and don't forget the children's prayers. 

Beatta — No, father. Good night. — exit; (shouts off stage 
are heard.) 

Fr. Dan (musing) An infidel? My! My!^ "Only the 
fool hath said in his heart there is no God." 

Fagan (outside in rough, loud voice) I say I will come in. 
Out of my way ye brazen baggage, (enter Fagan driving Mrs. 
D, ahead of him) (his coat in his hand, is torn, his vest split up 
the back, and he presents the appearance of one knocked down 
in the dirt; he is excited and angry throughout the scene.) 

Fr. Dan (interfering) ,-Here, here, Mr. Fagan, remember 
where you are. What's the matter? (sits at table.) 

Fagan (brushing himself as Mrs. D. goes up stage) Matter 
is it? Assult and battery's the matter. Your new curate's 
the matter. Look at the state of me (turns himself around.) 

Fr. Dan — Well, I must say I have seen you looking more 
presentable at this rectory. 

Fagan — Rectory? Presentible? Faith an' it's to an hos- 
pital I ought to be presinted. But I'll make him pay dear for 
this, so I will. There's a law in the land that'll reach even 
priests for assultin' decent parishioners. 

Fr. Dan — Parishioners indeed? And how long have you 
been a practical Catholic, Mr. Fagan? • When were you to 
your confession last? 

Fagan (gruffly) That's me own business (puts on coat.) 

Fr. Dan — And the devil's too. But go on with your story. 

Fagan — That I will, and no thanks to ye. Well, I was just 
addresin' a meetin' of the pathriots outside. You might have 
heard the thunderin' applause that greeted me constitootional 
remarks ? 

Fr. Dan — I heard the crowd of you shouting "rebellion." 

Fagan — Rebellion is it? an' why not? (in bombastic, orator- 
ical style) Too long have the brutal hirelin's of England—^ 

Fr. Dan (interrupting and striking table with hand) Cease 
this babble, hypocrite, and come to the point. 

Fagan- — That I will, and no thanks to ye. Well, jist as I 
was in the midst of me pathriotic discourse, along comes your 

—12— 



new curate, grabs me by the nape of the neck, strikes me be- 
twixt the two eyes wid his iron fist, slams me on the turf, an^ 
ginerally abuses me, as if I were the scum' of tlie earth. An' 
so I've come to you, so I have, to have him removed from this 
parish, an' at once (-strikes tlie table with his fist) (comic, bus. 
by Mrs. D. in corner with broom.) 

Fr. Dan — Easy there, man. Fr. Letheby is an earnest, holy 
priest of God; and, I doubt not, had the best reasons for his 
action, 

Fagan — Rasons, is it? Thin ye mane to defind this outrage, 
do ye? Well thin, I'll see what the Bishop will do. I have 
influence in Dublin, mind ye, an' I'll have this interloper 
silenced, so I will, an' if that don't keep his dirty fists off of 
dacent people — with threatening gesture — why thin (to- 
wards end of this speech enter Fr. Letheby, with Jem Deady, 
and a group of male peasants behind him.) 

Fr. Letheby (quietly) Well, sir, what then? 

Fagan (retreating as if greatly afraid of Fr. Letheby) I'll 
see what the law'U do. 

Letheby — See that it doesn't take vengenance on yourself 
first, scoundrel, (to Fr. Dan) Excuse me father, while I ex- 
plain to these men. (to peasants) Boys, I broke up your meet- 
ing just now because, well God knows, I pity you. You are 
bent on a desperate and foolish course the outcome of which no 
man can forsee. 

Fagan (sneeringly) That's what ye priests always say. The 
priests are always again the people. 

Letheby — That's a lie and you know it. Remember the 
Soggarth Aroon. For seven hundred years the priests and 
the people have fought side by side in the battle for Irish free- 
dom. 

Jem — Thrue for ye, father, 'tis what our fathers and our' 
fathers' fathers have always towld us. 

Peasants — Hurroo ! 

Letheby — But men, think of the consequences of your pres- 
ent folly, possible imprisonment in the dark dungeons of Port- 
land and Dartmoor; exile to America or Australia, separation 
from your Holy Church, whose laws you are infringing, sep- 
aration from your families to whom you are a constant source 

—13— 



of terror and tribulation. And all this men too, all this at the 
dictation of a traitor in the pay of the government, to betray 
you. 

Jem — Excuse me father, but you are wrong there. There's 
not one in our crowd but what's true blue. 

Letheby — So you think, sir; so you all think perhaps. But 
I tell you there hides in your midst a traitor of the blackest 
hue ! (peasants look at one another in dismay) (Fagan squirms, 
and looks anxious, down, right. Letheby produces paper from 
his cloak) Look! This paper, obtained, no matter how, is a 
copy of the original on file in the archives of the police, some 
of which mind you, were secret witnesses to your meeting to- 
night (bus. by peasants). It contains the names of every young 
man that has been sworn into your secret society, (peasants re- 
garding paper over shoulder) and the name that heads all 
the rest is that of one James Deady, tiler and roofer. 

Jem' (amazed) Glory be to St. Patrick! who has betrayed us? 

Letheby — Who? The vile informer who addressed you to- 
night, Mr. Fagan (points to him crouching and crosses with 
paper to Fr. Dan.) 

Jem (to Fagan) You black imp of hell; (Jem and peas- 
ants rush and seize him, dragging him screaming towards the 
door.) 

Fagan — Help! Murder! Police! 

Fr. Dan (crossing to C.) No violence boys, I command you. 

Jem — No more than a ducking in the pond, yer rivirince. 
Shure 'twill be a charity to give him a wash anyhow. 

Peasants — Hurroo! (rush him again.) 

Fr. Dan — Stop ! Leave the monster to the pangs of his own 
conscience. 

Jem — No, father, lave him to the "Holy Terrors." 'Twill 
do him more good. Away with him boys, (peasants shout, and 
with Jem Deady rush Fagan, (yelling) "help, murder, police," 
(out of door pass off stage.) (Peasants' shouting gradually dies 
away. Letheby removes cloak and gives it to Mrs. D. to hang 
upon rack.) 

Fr. Dan (looking after crowd at window) Father, I'm afraid 
you have stirred up a hornet's nest. 

Letheby — Oh! if I have done wrong may God forgive me! 

—14— 



but the thought that here in this quiet little village was a secret 
society hatching rebellion quite upset me. It's a bad business, 
sir. 

Fr. Dan (coming down from window to sit at table.) Yes, 
father, bad for soul and body. But to cure the evil we priests 
must act judiciously. A good surgeon, you know, never hur- 
ries over an operation. So, my dear young man, take an old 
priest's advice and go slow, very slow. But you must be tired 
and hungry after your long ride on the sick call. Mrs. D'Arcy, 
bring in some lunch for his Reverence. ' 

Letheby — Pray, father, don't bother about me.' I'm all 
right. 

Fr. Dan — Oh, but I will. A cup of hot tea, Mrs. D'Arcy. 

Mrs. D. (going and aside.) ''Dirt," says he, "Dirt", (Mrs. 
1>. exits and returns presently to arrange lunch oni the table and 
exits ad lib.) 

Fr. Dan — Tell me, father, who was sick? 

Lethfeby (sitting at left of table.) An old mountain ranger 
by the name of Conroy. He is very low and I annointed him. 
And my, how he did pray ! Really, sir, the faith and fervor of 
these people is quite extraordinary. I always felt in Man- 
chester, on my mission there, that I was living at the bottom 
of a huge black chimney in smoke and stench and noise, mater- 
ial and spiritual. Ah, but here you have the holy pedple and 
the peace and quiet of God. How happy your ministry among 
them must have been, (sipping his tea.) 

Fr. Dan — Very happy, thank God! 

Letheby — Do you know father, since I've come here, I've 
been thinking that ye are not making all that we might out 
of the magnificent possibilities that lie before us. Things are 
pretty backward here in Ireland ; and yet we have an intelligent 
people, splendid natural advantages — 

Fr. Dan — Yes; and absentee landlords and an infernally 
bad government. 

Letheby — Well, for example, I'm told that shoals of fish 
whiten the sea here in the summer time, and yet the men have 
no appliances with which to catch them, and sell them at a 
vast profit. Now, why not build a pier out there, or perhaps, 
even persuade our merchants to subscribe to build a modem 

. < i 

—15— 



fishing boat? (rises and goes to window.) Then, again father, 
look at that old mill lying idle down there by the creek. Why 
not furnish it up and have our young girls working there? — 
(comes down again.) Pardon me if I seem to be finding fault 
with the ministry of. the priests here, but I am sure you will 
understand me. 

Fr. Dan — Oh, perfectly. Do you know, your words carry 
me back thirty years to when I first came to Kilronan as a new 
curate. Ideas like yours burned in my brain. I too would 
build a factory and a fishing schoone¥ ; yes, I would make Kil- 
ronan a new favorite seaside resort of the western coast. I did 
try it all. God knows ! with all the faith and fervor of my soul. 
But I might as well have tried to move a mountain with a 
pitchfork. Nothing on earth ©an cure the inertia of Ireland. 
However, don't let my experience discourage you or dispel 
your bright dreams (musingly.) Still I ought not to conceal 
from you the the worst. 

Letheby (a bit surprised.) The worst? Father, let me know 
all I pray you. 

Fr. Dan (sententiously.) In the improbable events of the 
success of your ambitious schemes for their good, the people 
won't even thank you. 

. Letheby- — What! they w^on't be glad to be lifted out of all 
this misery and degradation to a newer and sweeter life? 

Fr. Dan — Precisely. They are happy enough as they are. 
Take an old priest's advice and leave them so. ''They sow 
not, neither do they spin, nor yet do they envy Solomon in all 
his glory." How can you expect -to add to such happiness? 
By building a fishing schooner and sending them out on the 
high seas exposed to all the dangers of the deep? and for what? 
A little more money, a litle more drink. And, when all's said 
and done, the verdict will be, ''Why didn't he leave us alone?" 
i'We were better off as we were." 

Letheby (thoughtfully.) What you say, father, sounds sen- 
sible enough. But there's some vile fallacy at the bottom of 
it. (with determination.) Yes, and I'm going to prov« it. 
Despite the lethargy of the peasants ; in spite of absentee land- 
lords ; in the Jace of governmental bureaucracj'^, I am resolved 
to build that fishing schooner for the meii and restore that fac- 



-16- 



tory for the women. Tell me father, tell me I have your per- 
mission to begin. 

Fr. Dan (rising.) Oh, certainly, if you insist. But I warn 
you, sir, that in twelve months time all you'll have to show for 
your pains will be a head for gray hairs, that's all. 

Letheby — Nevertheless, Fr. Dan, come what may, I'll try. 
And now your blessing on the work, (kneels at Fr. Dan's feet, 
as the latter blesses him.) 

ACT II. 

Scene: — Outside the Chapel and Rectory. Drop — full 
stage — representing country side with road crossing stage. 
Chapel, with steps and door R. Cottage, with door L. Large 
stone cross up stage D., near road, Rustic bench near cottage 
door, 

Beatta (discovered standing on chapel steps and decorat- 
ing chapel with flowers, ferns, etc., Mrs. D. near by, watching 
her.) 

Beatta (finishing decorations.) Now, Mrs. D'Arcy-, how does 
that look? 

Mrs. D. (admiringly.) Beautiful, mum, beautiful. 

Beatta — Now I think I'll decorate the Blessed Virgin's altar 
inside. 

Mrs. D. — Dp, Miss Batty, if you plaze. You know, Father 
Letheby is mighty fussy about that altar, mum. He gave 
me strict orders this mornin' to have it lookin' uncommon nate 
for the closin' of the "Forty Hours" this evenin'. 

Beatta — Very well, Mrs. D'Arcy, I'll attend to it (about to 
enter chapel.) 

(Jamesey and Mary run in from L.) 

Jamesey and Mary — Oh, Ma, look here come the soldiers. 

Mrs. D. (looking off R.) 'Tis your father, Miss Batty, wid 
his men. 

(Campion and squad of soldiers enter R., cross stage, and exit 
L., followed by the children mimicking their step.) 

Mrs. D. — You'll excuse me for sayin' so, Miss Batty, but I 
notice that your father nivver raises his hat whin he passes 
the Chapel now. 

—17— 



■ ■ ) ^ .. 

Beatta (sadly.) No, Mrs. D'Arcy; I'm afraid my father is 
becoming rather (s^es Ormsby, who has entered R,, and is 
standing L. C, looking ^own road, she crosses to him.) Oh, 
Captain Omjsby, tell me what brings the soldiers from the 
barracks this afternoon ? 

Ormsby — There's to be an eviction down the road at five 
o'clock., 

Beatta — Another ? and who are the unfortunates to be driven 
from home this time? 

Ormsby — An old couple — the name is Murphy, I believe. 

Mrs. D. (picking up stray flowers and ferns from the chapel 
steps.) The Murphys, is it? Musha thin, they've lived in that 
old cottage yonder these sixty years, an' now they're to be 
turned out of house an' home. Yerra, bad cess to the law an' 
the landlords, I say. 

Beatta — Oh, why should it be my father who always has to do 
this miserable work? 

Ormsby — It's only his duty as an officer of the crown, my 
dear. 

Beatta — Yes, I know ; but the peasants don't take kindly to 
these evictions. They say my father is too hard-hearted, and 
they have often actually threatened to take his life. And, oh, 
if anything serious were to happen to him now, when his soul 
is at enmity with God, oh, I cannot bear to think of it! turns 
aside — 

Ormsby (approaching to console her.) Then don't, my dear, 
surrounded as he is by the power of the British government, 
and majesty, your father is perfectly safe. However,, much 
the peasants may threaten, they will not dare to resort to 
violence. 

' Fagan (who has entered unseen.) R. — If they do we'll have 
the law on thim. (exit L. as angry shouts are heard off stage.) 

Beatta (disturbed by shouts) What is that? 

Ormsby (up stage I..) Only the peasants hooting the sol- 
diers (louder shouting) perhaps after all, I'd better go and 
help preserve the peace. 

Beatta^ — If you only would, captain (exit Ormsby L., amid 
njore shouting, etc.) ^ 

Beatta (Going towards chapel.) Oh, God watch over and pro- 

• —18— 



tect my poor father (exit into chapel.) 

Mrs. D. — TJiat's a fine gintlemin, that captain Ormsby. Too 
l^ad he's an infidel ; 

(Jamesey and Mary run in L. — Deady heard singing R.) 

James and Mary — Oh, ma, here comes Jem Deady. (calling 
to Jem) Halloa, Jem, (runs off R.) 

Jem (stopping his song in the distance) Hello, me darling. 

Mrs. D. — Strange the vagabond's not at the eviction. But 
I'll not tell him of it or there'll be murder shure. (sits on 
chapel steps and busies herself with basket and flowers.) 

(enter Jem, carrying little Mary on h^s shoulder and lead- 
ing Jamesey by the hand, R.) 

Jem— -Arrah, Jamesey me darlint, and its the strapper ye're 
growin' to be. An' you me darlint (placing her on the 
ground) you'll soon be as beautiful as your charmin' mother 
over there. The crame of the afternoon to ye,~Mrs. D'Arcy, 
an' it's swate as"a honey-suckle ye're looking this day. 

Mrs. D. — Arrah, go along about your bisiness, ye blather- 
skite. 

Jem — Bisiness is it? Musha an' thin it's about me bisiness 
I've come doWn here. Is Fr. Letheby at home, I don't know? 

Mrs. D. — -No, he is not. And if he was,, its small bisiness 
he'd be having wid the loikes of Mr. James Deady, tiler and 
roofer ( sarcastically . ) 

Jem (imitating her tone) Is that so now, Mrs. Mary>p'Arcy, 
housekeeper and sacristan? (approaches her) but whist! till 
I tell ye a secret (lowering voice) I've come around the Co- 
jutor and got a job. 

Mrs, D. — For Hivin's sake. Not the old job. 

Jem — The owld job to be shure, repairing the roof of the 
chapel again (pointing up.) Fr. Dan wouldn't stand for it at all, 
at all, at first, but me friend the Cojutor, used his inflooence, an' 
so I'm here to see his Rivirince to borrow me first week's pay, 
a tveek in advance, to buy me £K,laddqr to go to work. 

Mrs. D. — To buy drink, ye mane, ye. schamin' tippler. 
Musha thin, I wonder the priest-hasn't more since thin to be 
dalin wid the loikes of ye. 

Jem — Since, is it? Begorrah, he had since enough to pick 
out your Jamesey for an altar by, hadn't he? (to Jamesey) 

—19— 



Come here me bucko, an' you too, Mary you roguish queen of 
the fairies, come thither an' sit by your dadda (taking cliildren 
to him affectionately on t|ie rustic bench L. — Pause) Do ye 
know Mrs. D'Arcy, I've been thinkin' a grate deal of late about 
these two blissed orphans of yours. 

Mrs. D. — An phwat do ye be thinking? I ax ye? 

Jem (solemnly) I do be thinkin' 'tis a shame entoirely to 
have thim livin' on this way all their live^ without a father. 

Mrs. D. (Moved) Thrue for ye, Jem, but shure they'll never 
find another father like poor Mike D'Arcy, may the hivins be 
his bed this day. Hoo — hoo (cpmic bus. of crying and moan- 
ing with a large bandanna to wipe her eyes.) 

Jem — Boo — -hoo ! (imitating her crying bus., with a different 
colored handkerchief — of the tail of his coat.) 

Mrs. D. (sobbing) He had his ways, so he had, but he was 
good to the children, so he was. Boo hoo — Bus. — 

Jem (Boo-hoo! — bus.,) and with children again — Right ye 
are, Mrs. D'Arcy. He wor a good nian, wor Mike, an' a good 
purvider. He'll be cannonized (play on, this word some day,) 
I'm thinkin'. 

Mrs. D. (loudly) (Boo-hoo — bus.) Oh, why did he die, why 
did he die ? 

Jem — Cheer up, poor sowl, he'll nivver die again. 

Jem and Mrs. D. (together) Boo-hoo! (Jem now wipes eyes^ 
of the childpn, who are also boo-hooing) (Pause.) 

Jem — But me good women, let's dry our eyes. The poor 
man's dead an' gone to his reward, the more's the pity, an' all 
the tears in Christendom wont bring him bacl^ again; now, 
do be after listenin' to a bit of common since advice from an 
owld friend of the family. Ye know ye're a widdy now. 

Mrs. D. (loudly bursting out again) Boo-hoo (bus.) 

Jem — Boo-hoo! (bus., and with children again) Now, 'tis 
hard for ye poor sowl, so it is, wid these two blissid orphans on 
your hands, to be toilin' day an' night, washin' an' scrubbin' 
an' ironin' for the bite that goes into their little mouths. Now, 
if ye'd be after doin' "your duty be yourself an' the orphans 
here, ye'd be keepin' your Byes out for a substitute for their 
father. 

Mrs. D. — A substitute for me departed spouse, is it? Musha, 

, —20— 



in the name of charity, where would I be after lookin' for such, 
I ax ye ? 

Jem (Coddling the children) (assuming a very fatherly 
air.) Well, Mrs D'Arcy, if ye wor so disposed, ye wouldn't have 
to look farther thin this same bench here. 

Mrs. D. (rising and contemptuously.) What! a lazy good- 
for-nithing tipler an' common disturber like yourself to. fill the 
shoes of poor Mike D'Arcy, I'd marry a fiddler first. 

Jem (rising and approaching her.) Aisy there, me honey- 
suckle. Didn't poor Mike, on his dyin' bed, say to ye wid his 
last breath — that if ivver ye made up your mind to take a 
second husband, that I'd be his first choice for his successor? 

Mrs. D.— Well? 

Jem — Well, under thim coiiditions, what's to prevint you 
namin' the happy day? ' 

^rs. D. — Begor, thin I will. 

Jena (rushing' to embrace her.) Darlint of me heart! 

Mrs. D. (Warding him off.) Wait a bit. I'll marry you 
Jem Deady, (slowly) on the first day — 

Jem (jubilantly) of nixt month, yiss. 

Mrs. D. — No, on the first day I see ''swallows wearin' over- 
coats" (laughs heartily, crosses stage, and goes with children 
"->, into cottage. ) 

Jem (after standing for awhile musing and slowly lighting 
his pipe.) "Whin swallows wears overcoats," is it? Begorrah 
thin they'll have to do it, for I'm resolved to be the father of 
thim orphans, (noise of rioting off stage:) (Jem runs up stage 
C.) Hallo, what's that? (shouts again.) Blast me eyes, if it 
aint a row^ at Murphy's, (more shouts.) Wow! wow! there 
goes a red-coat down wid a stone on top of him. Glory be to 
ructions, I mustn't miss that picnic (runs off excited L. shout- 
ing) "Hurroo." 

Letheby (entering L., amid the shouting.) Another eviction? 
Merciful heaven, will the miseries of this distracted people 
never end? (goes to chapel steps, and stands reading his brevi- 
ary.) 

(Ormsby enters L., stands looking dow^n the road.; 

Ormsby — I left matters quiet, but the trouble seems to have 
broken out afresh. Campion is very indiscreet — ^but blood- 

—21— 



shed ? No, the peasants will not dare. 

Letheby (reading aloud to himself.) We can see now 
through a glass in a dark manner ; but then face to face. Now 
I know in part, but then I shall know even as I am known. 
And there remain faith, hope, and charity, these three. But 
the greatest of these is Charity, (closes book and is about to 
enter chapel.) 

Ormsby — Excuse me Mr. Letheby, but I have come to return 
the book you lent me. (handing him the book.) ^ 

Letheby — Ah, yes, St. Thomas on ''Faith." The work has 
enlightened you some, I hope, Mr. Ormsby. 

Ormsby — No ; I cannot truthfully say it has resolved any of 
my doubts. 

Letheby — No? well, if St. Thomas fails to convince, you are 
a sceptic indeed, Captain. 

Ormsbj^ — Frbm your point of view, yes. Still I am greatly 
attracted by your Church. In its extraordinary history since 
the time of the apostles, it presents such a shining example of 
unity and all-embracing Catholicity. Then again, it seems to 
be founded on love, love of a supernatural kind, and almost be- 
yond understanding. Really, sir, my heart is with you. If 
my head would only follow. 

Letheby — My_ dear young friend, even that won't do. The 
head might follow and you might still be as far from us as a 
Hindoo. 

Ormsby — I don't understand. Surely all that is wanting 
now is a conviction of the truth of your teaching. 

Letheby — Captain, there's your grave mistake. Conviction 
is not faith. Faith is not a matter to be acquired by mere 
learning. It is a gift like the talent of a great painter or musi- 
cian — a sixth sense — the pure gratuity of the All Wise and All- 
Good. 

Ormsby — Pardon me, but I do not quite follow as to that 
sixth sense. It seems to me this is a question not of sense but 
of the soul. 

Letheby — Let me explain. Have you ever visited a blind 
asylum ? 

Ormsby — Oh, yes, though principally abroad. By the way 
you don't mind my smoking? 

—22— 



Letheby — Not at all (Ormsby sits on bench and smokes.) 
Well, you may have noticed then that there are various degrees 
of the dread disease of blindness. But the most pathetic case 
to by mind is that of the young boy or girl who comes towards 
you, looking steadily at you, with large luminous eyes the iris 
perfectly clear, the pupil normally distended and every outward 
indication of perfect health in the organ. But, in an instant, 
the truth flashes upon you, that the poor child is blind. Now 
where's the disease? 

Ormsby — Why, the optic nerve is destroyed. 

Letheby — Precisely. And now, if you were to pour in 
through the dark canal of the pupil the strongest sunlight, do 
you suppose it would make any difference? 

Ormsby — None, so far as the sight is concerned. Rather it 
might paralyse the brain. 

Letheby — Exactly. And so, my dear young friend, if you 
were to pour till the crack of doom every kind of human light 
upon the dark retina of the soul without the optic nerve of 
faith, you would still be blind to your grave. 

Ormsby (rising thoughtfully.) Well, it is something to know 
that the fault is not altogether my own. But really, sir, my 
conversion demands a miracle. 

Letheby — Quite so, and that is why I am storming the cita- 
dels of heaven for you with that resistless artillery, the prayers 
of the little children, and if you sincerely wish to capture this 
grace of God by one tremendous coup, search out the most 
striken and afflicted of my flock, and get that one to pray for 
you. And mark my words! very soon the light of faith will 
burst upon yoiii and you will wonder that you were ever blind. 

Ormsby — A thousand thanks four your kind advice, and to 
prove my sincerity, I'll follow it at once. 

Letheby (taking his hand.) Do, my friend, and as God liveth 
and reigneth, the Holy Ghost will surely enter your soul. 

(loud uproar heard off stage L.) (Letheby and ormsby go up 
stage to see the trouble. Presently, peasants, male and female, 
and soldiers, enter in a confused group — the peasants headed 
by Jem Deady, struggling with the soldiers.) 

Lethebyv-In the name of God, men, cease this fighting, 
(as fighting and uproar gradually subside, an old man and an 

—23— 



old woman emerge from the crowd to the side of Fr. Letheby 
atR. C.> 

(Old man and old woman.) Save us, your riverence, save us. 
(clinging. to him for protection.) 
(enter Beatta from chapel and Fr. D, an Mrs. D.) 
(Campion breaks through the crowd and comes down L. C.) 

Letheby — Captain Campion, what is the meaning of this? 

Campion (Defiantly.) It means that I am enforcing the laws 
of England and will punish an^y man that dares to interfere. 

Letheby — What law gives you the right to drag the faces of 
these poor people through the dust ? 

Campion — The law of eviction, sir? 

Letheby — You have already evicted them from their cottage, 
have you not? 

Campion — Well, what of it? 

Letheby — This. They now stand upon the ground of the 
Roman Catholic Church under my protection — and you touch 
them at your peril. 

Peasants — Hurroo ! Bully for you. Father Letheby. 

Letheby — Silence men. Mrs. D'Arcy, take these unfortun- 
ates inside and care for them. 

(Old man and woman — crossing to L. to Mrs. D'Arcy.) Long 
life to your Riverence. Long life to your Riverence. (exeunt 
into cottage with Mrs. D.) ^ 

(Beatta is now sitting on Chapel steps with Ormsby trying to 
console her.) ^ 

Fagan (coming out of the crowd.) This is treason and I call 
for the law. 

Jem (seizing him.) Then take it, ye scut (kicks him off L.) 

Cami)ion (to soldiers.) Men, attention! Back to your bar- 
racks. March ! 

(soldiers form and exeunt R., while peasants exeunt on both 
sides, hissing the soldiers. Jem exits L. Making funny faces 
at Campion, who is plainly nervous and nettled.) 

Campion (coming down C, and to Letheby.) Sir, your con- 
duct just now is equivalent to an insult and I demand an 
apology. 

Letheby — An apology? For what? Because you perse- 
cute the poor? \ 



Campion (rushing, enraged.) Be careful, sir. I am not 
used to such language. 

.Letheby (with quiet dignity.) Perhaps not. But you'll 
have to listen to it just the same. 

Campion (rushing at him with upraised hand.) By God, sir, 
I've a mind to pitch you over the cliff. 

Beatta (rising in alarm.) Father! Father! 

Ormsby (seizing Campion and aside to him.) Captain, are 
you mad? 

Letheby (to Beatta.) Fear not, my child (she sits again) (he 
returns to Campion.) Now, Sir, as to that pitching, let me tell 
you there are two sides to the question. So hard-heart, listen, 
for I am not afraid of you and I will speak. F-said you 
were a persecutor of the poor. I repeat it. How many homes 
have you made desolate by your cruel and inhuman enforce- 
ment of the law? How many innocent sons have you forced 
into exile or imprisonment? Yet, steeped in iniquity, as you 
are, you don't care. 

Campion (now moved a bit.) Sir, I — 

Letheby (quickly.) No; and conscienceless as you are, you 
don't care for the God that made you, nor for that pecious 
jewel he has entrusted to your keeping — ^pointing to Beatta, 
weeping on Chapel steps. 

Campion (touched by the reference to Beatta.) Sir, you 
wrong me, I love my child. I am not an irreligious man. 

Letheby — You are, because you never kneel to God, or obey 
the commandments of his Holy Church. But let me tell you 
sir, by your irreligion, by your wicked enforcement of the law, 
you are slowly breaking that child's heart, and for yourself 
paving a quick and certain road to hell and eternal damnation. 
( crosses to Fr. Dan at L. ) 

Campion (overcome by scene.) By jove, I never thought a 
priest could talk to an officer and a gentleman so boldly. But 
to be very frank with, you, sir, I rather like it. We soldiers 
hate nothing so much as a coward. We like priests to show us 
they believe in hell by trying to keep us back-sliders out of it^ 
Mr. Letheby, I think that you and I will make better friends 
than enemies. I apologize. Your hand (extends his hand.) 

Letheby — On one condition. 

Campion — Name it. 

—25— 



Letheby — That you promise to make your peace with God 
and be at the altar rail next Sunday. 

Campion (hesitating.) Well, I'll think it over — withdraws 
his proffered hand and crosses to Beatta-^My child, you are 
going to be happy now, aren't you? 

Beatta (embracing him.) Yes, father, very happy (they 
turn and go up stage, and meet Ormsby, R. C.) 

Campion \with enthusiasm pointing to Letheby.) By jove 
Ormsby, what a soldier that fellow would make! 

(exeunt Campion, Beatta and Ormsby R.) 

(Stage Note?) (At the opening of the eviction scene, "stage 
lights are turned to represent sunset, and gradually change dur- 
ing above scene, till it is now supposed to be quite dark.) 

Fr, Dan — Well, father, you've taught your old pastor a 
wholesome lesson. We priests have no scruples in calling to 
account Jem Deady and his kind, but we hate to tackle the 
''big-wigs," and they despise us for our cowardice. Isn't that it? 

Letheby — It would seem so, father. 

Fr. Dan — However, let's talk about your fishing boat. Orms- 
by warns me it may become a \Gry perilous enterprise. 

Letheby — Oh, I've advanced too far now to retreat. Be- 
sides the Board of Public Works has at last given its consent, 
thanks to Ormsby himself. 

Fr. Dan — Indeed! And they'll advance all the money? 

Letheby — No ; only two thirds — four hundred pounds — prin- 
cipal and interest to be paid back in two years. 

Fr. Dan — Good ! Good ! And the other two hundred? 

Letheby — Subscribed by twenty merchants who have taken 
shares in the boat. Siie is already on the stocks at Belfast and 
will be ready by the first of May when she will be christened 
"The Star of the Sea" and make her first run with the fishing 
fleet. 

Fr. Dan — Splendid ! My, father, but you have th§ Lamp of 
Alladdin. And the shirt factory? 

Letheby — That's coming along all right, too. Within a 
week, I shall have fifteen machines in operation, and my mana-; 
ger assures rhe that when the initial expenses are paid, the 
girls will be able to earn easily from eight to twelve shillings 
a week. 

—26— 



Fr. Dan — My, my, but that's good, 'twill be a great help to 
the poor people (taking his hand) God bless you. Father 
you are a wonderful fellow (lights appear in chapel and cottage.' 
Bell tolls in chapel tower. ) 

Letheby (hearing bell.) The call for Benediction. Excuse 
me, father, while I prepare inside, (exit into cottage.) 

Fr. Dan^ (looking after him.) What a treasure he is. And 
the Bishop sent him here to break my heart. Well, it's an 
old way his Lordship has of returning good for evil (exit into 
chapel.) 

(dark stage — moonlight.) 

(N. B. — stop bell in chapel and start organ — N. B. — peasants 
from R. and L. come slowly on stage, in varied groups and 
from both sides, and enter chapel, preceded by altar boys in 
costume with cross and censer. Enter Mrs. D. from cottage with 
Jamesey and Mary, Jamesey dressed as an altar boy. As she 
is about enter chapel, Jem Deady, wjio has entered quietly, 
pulls at her dress. — Caution : Don't let action of peasants, male 
and female, here be too formal. ) 

Mrs. D. — Arrah, stop your teasin' ye omadhaun (exit with 
children into chapel.) 

Jem (looking after boy.) "Whin swallows wear overcoats," 
says she. (produces sheet of music) I'm to sing this hymn in 
the choir tonight by a special request of Fr. Letheby himself, 
but begorrah, I can't seem to get the tune through me pipes — 
(singing in low voice.) "Holy, holy, holy," — 

Fagan (who has entered and is watching from stage L.) 
May the tune choke ye, ye hypocrite. 

Jem — Yerra, if I wasn't goin' to me holy church this blissed 
minute, I'd murder ye for them words, you skunk. 

Fagan (snapping fingers.) That for ye an' your church! 
Jem (picking up stone, throws it at Fagan, who grunts as 
if struck and exits L.) It's mighty strange, but every time I 
lays eyes on that divil, I always forget the tin Command- 
ments, especially, the fifth (exit into chapel, humming the 
tune.) "Holy, holy, holy."— 

(Old man and woman enter from cottage and exeunt into 
chapel — enter Beatta and Ormsby R., Ormsby escorting her as 
far as the chapel steps — cease organ in chapel.) 

—27— 



Beatta (hand on chapel door.) You are still opposed to 
entering? 

Ormsby — No, Beatta, in my present state of mind to attend 
your Benediction now would be only a mockery on my part, 
and I will not deceive you or myself. But I'll see you after 
Benediction, may I? 

IBeatta (as you wish.) (Ormsby bows and retires. up stage.) 

Beatta (to herself) He's right. After all it's better to be 
thoroughly honest with God — and with ourselves (exit into 
chapel.) 

Solo in chapel — ''Lead, Kindly Light." Baritone preferred 
— first only Pantomine by Ormsby to represent the thought of 
the hymn, Note:^This pantomine is important as a lead to 
the clinlax of this act. 

Ormsby (at conclusion of hymn, reflectively.) Lead Thou 
me on (as he retires up the stage, R. Enter L., Alice. Moylan; 
the blind girl led by her sister Mary, age 12 or 13.) 

Alice (weakly) Mary, Fm so tired. Let me rest awhile 
before entering. (Mary places her on chapel steps.) 

Ormsby (approaching) My poor girl, you are not well. 
May I ask what ails you? 

Mary — My poor sister, sir, is blind. 

Ormsby — Blind and so young? Terrible ! 

Alice — Terrible enough, sir, — but welcome be the will of 
God. 

Ormsby — Tell me, girl, were you born blind ? 

Alice — No, sir, this is a scourge from heaven in punishment 
of my sins. ' • 

Ormsby — But how came it about? 

Alice — Sir, once, not so very long ago — I^was the village 
beauty, so they said. The thought made me proud and vain. 
One day, while admiring niyself before my looking glasg, I 
heard a noise at our kitchen door, as of some one trying to enter. 
Angry at being disturbed, I burst from my room and saw in 
the kitchen doorway the repulsive countenance of Nance, the 
outcast, her face disfigured by some loathsome desease. She 
begged for alms, but I, flushed with the thought of my own 
charms shouted in derision, "Well, you are a beauty." And 
then she said (breaks down) Oh, you tell him, Mary, I cannot 

—28— . 



bear to repeat her words. 

Mary — She said, "I'm not as handsome as you, alanna,^ 
there was once when perhaps I was — but your time may come," 
she said ''Mockin' is catchin'; mockin' is catchin'." And then, 
sir, she cursed my poor sister, oh ! so wickedly and went away. 

AHce — Yes, and all that day I could not get the thought of 
my sins out of my head. But that night at a party my vanity 
all came back again, and I was glorying in the flattery of the 
young men around me, when suddenly I grew dazed and ill. 

Mary — So .that I had to take her from the room and lead 
her home, sir. 

Alice — Yes; and all that night I never slept. That out- 
cast's stricken face was always coming before me to haunt me — 
staring at me out of the darkness, staring, till in sheer madness 
and terror^ I leaned from my bed and fell exhausted upon the 
floor. And then the. frightful anger of God coming down upon 
me suddenly flashed across my mind, and I screamed, and tore 
my hair, and bit at the window pane, and shrieked, "Don't, 
oh Lord, oh, don't." Till I fell again, then I dragged my- 
self across the floor to a picture of the Blessed Vir^gin upon the 
wall, and with tears a-streaming, I begged of her, "You won't 
let Him, mother, you won't let Him !" But the Virgin's face 
only glared down on me coldly, pitilessly — and then — in an 
instant -r-even as I gazed upon it — it faded completely away; 
and then I realized, oh, my God! — breaks completely down — I 
was blind — stone blind. 

Mary (with arms around her) Oh, Lord, have mercy on my 
poor sister! 

Ormsby (moved) Horrible! Horrible, (aside) This is in- 
deed the most stricken and afflicted of the flock, (aloud) My 
girl, have you seen a doctor about this? 

Alice (Gradually recovering) Oh, yes, but he says there is 
no cure for me. 

Ormsby — But you are a Catholic. Have you consulted your 
confessor? 

Alice — Oh, yes, and kind Father Letheby visits me every 
day_with words of consolation. 

Ormsby — Yes; and what does he say about your trouble? 

Alice — He says it is some mysterious dispensation of the. 



-29— 



Almighty, which I cannot now understand, but that some day 
I shall understand and see that it is all God's mercy and not 
His anger. 

Ormsby — And do you believe what the priest says? 

Alice — I believe it most firmly. Who knows but that some- 
thing more dreadful was in store for me, and God, in His won- 
derful mercy, has just saved me from it? So, sir, I am quite 
resigned to His will and thankful for all His goodness to me. 

Ormsby (aside) Such faith I have not seen in all my days! 
(aloud) My child, tell me — and tell me honestly — I have a 
strange reason for asking — do you really believe in your heart 
and soul — without reserve — that it is the love of God which 
thus afflicted you? ' 

Alice — I believe it by my hopes of eternal life. 

Ormsby — And are you really glad because He has thus afflict- 
ed you? 

Alice — Glad and truly happy, only for mother, who frets so, 
I would not care to be well again. 

Ormsby — But do you not sometimes grieve for the loss of 
your beauty? 

Alice — Why should I? when I know that God will give me 
back my beauty in heaven and a thousand times greater there 
for all He permits me to suffer here. 

Ormsby (aside) It is the sublime and the impossible (aloud) 
— But can you — do you — forgive the woman, Nance, the out- 
cast, whose curse has thus been visited upon you? 

Alice — I have long since forgiven her from the bottom of my 
heart. And now I am going into Benediction to pray — and 
oh! so hard for her return to grace and the salvation of her 
immortal soul (rising to enter chapel.) 

Ormsby (after a long pause) will you also pray in there — 
and strongly too, for my salvation? 

Alice — Do you sincerely wish salvation? 

Ormsby — I wish to see the light of God, your God. 

Alice — Then I will pray for you — and for poor Nance too. — 
(exit with Mary into chapel.) 

Ormsby (looking into chapel after her) If there be indeed 
a God, He must — He will hear the prayer of this. His saint 
and martyr, (retires thoughtfully up stage and exit R.) 

—30— . 



Note — (Chorus in chapel, "Nearer, my God to Thee.") 

(Enter Nance the Outcast, L. in fear and trembUng, looking 
about to see if she is observed. As hymn progresses, she goes 
through pantomime — at the words "e'en though it be a cross 
that raiseth me," kneels at foot of large cross, making the pic- 
ture "Eock of Ages." At the conclusion of, hymn, she throws 
herself in abject despair on the steps of the chapel.) 

(Enter Letheby, from cottage. Later followed by Ormsby, 
who remains in the background watching this scene until 
occur his lines.) 

Note: — (During the succeeding dialogue, choir in chapel 
chants softly "Tantum Ergo.") 

Letheby (about to enter chapel finds Nance on the steps) 
Halloa! What have we here? pulls back Nance's shawl from 
her face (recognizes her.) You, Nance? What do you want 
here? 

Nance — That's a queer question for a priest to be askin'. 
What did the poor Magdalen want when she went to Christ 
himself, a bigger man than you and wasn't turned away either? 

Letheby — Yes; but she repented and loved Christ, and was 
prepared to die rather than sin again. 

Nance — And how do you know but that I'm the same? Do 
you know more than that God above you? And He is my wit- 
ness here tonight before His Blessed and only Son that all hell 
fire won't make me fall again. Hell fire? Oh! it isn't hell 
fire I'm afraid of, but the face of Christ and yours. Hiding 
her face again — 

Letheby (moved) Poor Nance, may God help and pardon 
you! 

Nance — Oh, if you had only had those same kindly words 
for me three months ago, how much misery you would have 
saved me ! But you had the hard word, Father Letheby, and it 
almost drove me wild to think as how you said from the altar as 
how I wasn't fit to come and mix with the people at Holy Mass. 

Letheby — What else was I to say. 

Nance — Nothing then perhaps. But oh, you didn't know 
how many and many a night — in cold and hunger — when 
you were asleep in your warm bed — how I stole from my hovel 
of a home — here to the chapel door, and peeped in through the 

—31— 



key-liole to where His Sacred Heart was burning with love for 
sinners; for, oh, I thought perhaps He would come out, when 
no one was looking, and speak to me — but no^ no. He and you 
and all the world was against me — Oh, but it was hard, hard — 
(breaks down.) 

Letheby — SjDeak low, Nance, the men inside will hear you. 

Nance — They've heard w^orse from my lips than what I'm 
saying tonight, God help me. It isn't the men nor their doings 
that I care about ; but when the young girls cross the street 
lest they should come near me ; and the decent mothers throw 
their aprons over their children's heads lest they should see me, 
oh that's what breaks my heart entirely. 

Letheby (deeply moved) Well, what is it to be now, Nance? 
are you resolved to change your life? 

Nance — Verral, what else would bring be here tonight. 

Letheby — Are you prepared to make a full sincere confes- 
sion ? 

Nance — This very moment, with God's blessing. 
- Letheby — Then I will hear you. * 

(As they start toward the rectory, the Benediction bell rings 
inside the chapel.) 

Letheby— Wait ! The Benediction. (Kneel — Letheby and 
Nance kneel together C. in adoration — Second bell.) 

Ormsby (Who has everheard the above dialogue with ap- 
\ parent interest and. emotion) Oh, what a church! that begets 
saints — and redeems sinners! (Third Benediction bell) Yea, 
and unto them that walk in darkness bringeth — 

(Note: — On the word ''bringeth" a light coming through the 
window of the chapel strikes Ormsby in the face. He s^rts 
.back with great emotion and gives his concluding lines.) 

Ormsby — The light ! The light ! The scales have fallen. 
I See and I adore. (Kneels in adoration beside Letheby and 
Nance C. L.) 

— Picture till curtain — 

As curtain descends choir in chapel sing "Holy God." 



—32— 



ACT III. 

(Scene. — Along the beach at KHronan. Woodland wings 
with exits R. & L. Cliff effects and rocks on beach^-small 
row boat in water — Sea-drop with Nance discovered seated on 
a rock up stage C. ) 

Nance. — Oh, how that sea tempts me! beckons me to quit the 
hard world that hates and despises me, and find a refuge there 
in the bosom of the deep. But, no, no ! I promised God and 
the good priest in the confessional that I would despair no more, 
and I will keep mj word. (Music and revelry off stage.) Oh, 
how the people are enjoying themselves at Beatta's wedding. — 
Laughter off stage. (They laugh and make merry.) Everyone 
is welcome at the feast bu^t me, .and I must keep away as if I 
w^ere contagion. Oh, but the way of the outcast is hard. I 
have no friend in the wide, wide world, (pause.) Yes, there 
is one friend, Father Letheby, and he is- doing his best to help 
me. He has given me this note (producing it) to go to work 
at his factory. But oh, I'm afraid to go there, for I know that 
the girls will spurn me and drive me away, perhaps with vio- 
lence. And then what shall I do? Where shall I turn to 
make an honest living. For I) must live, and I will be honest. 
Oh, God in heaven help me. (enter Fagan down cliff.) 

Fagan. — Halloa, Nance. Thinking agin of suicide, eh? 

Nance (trying to avoid him.) No; thinking of how to live 
and avoid the sight of creatures like you. 

Fagan.— Ho! Ho! On the reform again, eh? I was 
wandering what kept you from the ale-house of late. We missed 
your illigent- company, (drawing close to her and blocking her 
way.) 

Nance. — Enough, villain, let me pass. 

Fagan. — Not 'til I see what you have in yor hand there. 
Shure it wouldn't be one of me owld love letters, would it? 
Well at all events, it ain't becoming to a lady that's on the re- 
form to be concealing a note from a gintleman (grabs note 
from her hand and reads) Ho! Ho! a note from me fine 
friend Fr. Letheby, is it? An' so yo're goin' to work at his 
factory, eh? Well, if the girls '11 condisind to work beside the 

—33— 



likes of ye, I hope the priest will pay you better wages than he's 
payin' thim, the slave drivin' robber, (throws note on ground.) 

Nance, (picks up note.) Begone, tempter. Your past and 
mine are dead. You are to me nothing now but a corpse, (exits 
proudly.) 

Fagan. (looking after her.) Ha! me proud damsel; yer re- 
form won't last long. You'll be back at your old ways, I'm 
thinkin', (goes up stage and looks off at ship.) There she rides 
at anchor, the priest's new fishin' boat. "The Star of the 
Say", he calls her. Faith, an' its at the bottom of the say 
she'll be, whin me friend Hogan gets through with her this 
day. Ha ! me fine new curate, little do ye know there's enlis- 
ted in your crew an imp of hell, hired by mesilf, to sink your 
illigant schooner on thim sunken rocks beyant. (musing) 
She's a fine craft though. Begorrah, 'tis almost a crime to sink 
her. But, sink she must and sink she will, (viciously) Ha, 
me fine Father L/etheby, ye thought to chastise me, did ye? 
an' make a show out of me? But I'll drag ye down, down, down 
to where the informer can crow over ye to his heart's content — 
(looking again off stage) (gloating — then turns and looks off 
opposite side.) But where's me man Hogan? 'tjs time he were 
here, (a rough singing voice is heard off stage) Yiss; here's 

(Enter Hogan, singing a snatch of a sailor's song.... as he 
reaches L. C, Fagan covers his mouth with his hand to stop 
his singing, then looks around carefully to see that they are 
not observed.) 

Fagan. — Well, me man, what's the news? 

Hogan. — The best. 

Fagan. — Have ye got the auger? 

Hogan. — Yiss, an' a mighty fine tool it is too. (giving it to 
Fagan for inspection.) 

Fagan. — Is it sharp? 

Hogan. — 'Twould bore through a plate of steel. 

Fagan. — Good, (gives back auger) An' did you loosen her 
rudder? 

Hogan. — This mornin' whin no one was on deck but mesilf. 

Fagan. — Good agin ! Now remimber yer instructions. Whin 
the boat's sailing over thim sunken rocks beyant, steal yer way 



—34— 



down into her hold an' drill a hole in her keel. An' remimber, 
do your work well or ye gets no pay whin ye comes back. 

Hogan. — I may niwer come back from this job, Mr. Fagan, 
so I'll have me money in advance, if ye plase. 

Fagan. — No ; whin ye comes back. 

Hogan (fiercely) Now, I says, or I throwkup the hold job. 

Fagan. — Well, if ye promise not to git drunk an' forgit what 
I'm payin' ye for. 
, Hogan. — Divil a drunk ! so hand me over me money, if ye 
plaze. 

Fagan.— after counting out money slowly and grudgingly, 
hands him notes, and at the same time disgruntled voices! of 
factory girls are heard off stage — There! now be off wid ye — 
urging him off — Here come the factory girls, an' it won't do 
for us to be seen collogin' together. 

Hogan (counting money) Wait a bit! Wait a bit. There's 
five pounds short, ye robber. 

Fagan. (recounting money.) Oh, so there is. My, but me 
eyesight's gifting bad. — fishing for more money — 

Hogan. — Blasht yer eyesight! Give me my five pounds. 

Fagan (givmg him another note.) There! Now away wid 
ye (exit Hogan singing) (enter forelady and group of factory 
girls, excitedly talking toge|;her.) 

Forelady. — I say I won't go to w^ork today. This ought to 
be a holiday, the day of Beatta's w^edding and the trip of the 
"Star of the Sea." The priest is too hard on us, I say, and his 
wages is worse than starvation. (gii;ls brumble assent.) 

Fagan. — Right ye are, lass, why should ye poor things be 
killin' yourselves wid work an' for what? For the priest to be 
turnin' a good penny out of the sweat of your brows, 

Forelady. — Mr. Fagan is right, girls. 

Fagan. — Of course I'm right, lass. An' ye'U all believe me 
^^jcaore whin I tell ye the news. 

Girls. — News? What news? (drawing near.) 

Fagan. — Listen, ye're to have a lady, yiss a mighty fine lady 
to work wid yez from now on. 

Girls.— A lady? Who is she? 

Fagan. — Nance, the outcast. 

Girls, (withdrawing wdth a groan) No? 



—35- 



Fagan. — Yiss; by orders of Father Letheby, himself. She's 
on her way now to the factory. 

Forelady. — -*Priest or no priest, I'll not work with her. I'll 
strike first. 

Girls. — Yes'm we'll all strike. Away with her ! Outcast ! 
Outcast! (exits shouting.) 

Fagan. (gloating) Ha, me fine Father Letheby, I raised a 
pretty storm over your head. You'll have a strike on your 
hands before long, and thin we'll see what profit ye' 11 make out 
of your illigant factory (exit) (enter Jem, male peasants, and 
Murphy, a character old man-.) 

Murphy. — No, Jem ; I say she has a lisht to port. • ' 

Jem.^Where's your eyes, ye lubber? can't ye see she lanes 
to starboard. My, but ain't she a beauty ! 

Murphy, (with matches trying to light his pipe. Jem's 
bus. is unseen- by Murphy, to blow out*, his matches so that he 
never lights his pipe. Bus. ad lib., but not to be overdone.) 
'Twill take six men to navigate her, but shure 'tis aisy to git 
thim for the wages the priest is offerin'. 

Jem. — How much? 

Murphy.- — Fifteen shilling a week an' a share in the profits. 

Jem. — Begor, I'd work for thim wages myself. 'Tis more 
profitable than repairing roofs. 

Murphy. — Arrah, go long, ye omadliaun ; what do ye know 
about sea-farin' anyhow? 

Jem. — Shure, ain't it part of a roofer's business to go aloft? — 
all laugh — An' did I never tell yez how I was a pilot once? 

Murphy. — No, Jem ; tell us about it. 

Jem. — Thin gather forninst me. (peasants gather about him) 
— Well, one day about a year ago, I was fishin' in me dory 
off thim sunken rocks bey ant (pointing R.) whin an English 
schooner came sailin' by. It seems her captain was asleep in 
his cabin below as drunk as a lord — an' the mate bein' a stran- 
ger in these parts, was a wee bit-a-scaird of his surroundings. 
" Murphy. — An' well he might be, Jem ! 'Tis a mighty bad 
spot out there, especially in a storm. 

Jem. — Thrue for ye, Mike (pipe bus.) Well, the mate sings 
out to me from on deck, "Halloa," says he, ''Halloa" says I, 
just as civil as hiinself, mind ye. "Are ye a pilot?" says he. 

—36— 



''That I am," says I. Of course I wasn't. 

Murphy — Of, course you wasn't. Shure any fool knows that. 

Jem. — You know it, don't you? 

Murphy. — Shure I know it. 

Jem. — Well! (laughter and pipe bus.) Well, I saw a chance 
to earn an honest penny by takin' the job. "Do you know 
this 'arbor?" says he, "That I do,'? says I, "an' every rock in 
it." " - ' " - 

Murphy, (laughing) Every rock in it! Ha! Ha! (pipe, 
bus.) 

Jem. — "Thin come aboard," says he. So up I climbs on 
deck an' grabs the wheel, as if I'd been a steersman all me life. 
Well, sirs, it wasn't five minutes before we was hard an' fast 
on one of thim sunken rocks beyant. 

Murphy. — Wow, wow says the fox. 

Jem. (nettled at being interrupted) May the devil fly away 
'^wicl you an' the fox, (pipe bus.) Well, the say came streamin' 
into the howld of the boat in bucketfuls. Up rushes the mate 
to me wid blood in his eye, an' says he, flourishin' a marlin' 
spike over my head, "Ye bloomin' hidiot," says he, "I thought 
you told me you knew every rock in this bloody, bloomin' har- 
bor." "I do," says I; "An' I'm tellin' ye we're on top of one 
of thim now." 

Murphy, (laughing heartily) On top of one of thim now? 
"^'Wow, wow, says the fox" (falls laughing into a peasant's 
' arms. ) 

(Enter Fr. Letheby and Campion L.) 

Letheby — Good morning, men. (goes up 0.) 

Campion, (very pleasantly) Good morning, boys, (joins 
Fr. L.) 

Jem. (surprised at Campion's tone and aside to peasants) 
Boys! 'an' from him? 

Murphy — Begorrah, it- was blackguards an' serfs before. 

Jem. — But we'll be as civil as himself. Good mornin' Cap- 
tain, an' many happy returns of the day to yourself an' the 
beautiful bride and groom. 

Campion, (coming down) Thank you kindly sir. And 
now permit me to invite you all to go up to the castle as my 
and my daughter's guests and participate in the wedding feast. 



-37- 



Go and enjoy yourselves to your hearts' content. 

Jem. (scratching his head and aside to peasants) Begorrah, 
thim's the, first kind words I ivver heard from that man's lips. 
What's come over him at all, at all? (aloud) Thank ye kindly, 
Captain. Now, boys, a cheer for Captain Campion. Hip-hip- 
horroo! (Jem and peasants exeunt L. — cheering heartily.) 

Campion, (looking after them) Father, would you believe 
it? that cheer is the sweetest sound I have heard in years. It 
has touched me deeply. 

Letheby. — It ought to teach you. Captain, that these poor peo- 
ple are best governed by kindness. 

Campion. — It does; ; but I'm afraid I have learned the lesson 
too late. Brought up in the rough school of the soldier, I have 
never up to now been able to shake off a feeling of contempt 
for these poor, uneducated peasants — and, as you pointed out 
to me recently, I'm afraid I have been treating them too harsh- 
ly. Besides, I've been a bad Catholic (crosses to R. C.) This 
fact my son-in-law, Ormsby, lately an unbeliever, has particu- 
larly impressed me, not by words, but by his silent example. 
You know, at first I did not care a pin whether he was a Turk,^ 
a fire-worshipper or an atheist, so long as he married Beatta. 

Letheby. — Now, Captain, you see that the Church is rights 
do you not? 

Campion, (with conviction) Absolutely right. My daugh- 
ter's espousal would have been incomplete, yea, a spiritual 
mockery had she not married a Catholic, and a. true one. \ 

Letheby. — Am I to infer Captain, that you intend to turn 
over a new leaf yourself? 

Campion. — Yes. I am running into years and must brush 
up, as if the end were near. Believe me I am sorry I was not 
at Communion with Beatta and Ormsby this morning, but I 
promise you we shall all receive the sacrament together, the 
Sunday after their return from their honeymoon on the con- 
tinent. 

Letheby. (taking his hand) God bless you, sir, and help you 
to keep that good resolution. (Town clock strikes twelve.) 

Campion. — Twelve o'clock — the hour set for the departure 
of your fishing-schooner, I believe. 

Letheby. — Yes; and here comes the crew now. (Hogan 
Note: — In the twenty-sixth line some prefer the word Christian. 

—38— 



:^and five other fisherman L, Hogan drunk but trying to conceal 
it.) 

Letheby. — Good day, men. (All but Hogan salute.) But 
where is your captain ? 

Hogan, (who hiccoughs throughout scene) He — hie — re- 
fuses to sarve, sir — hie. 

Letheby. — Refuses to serve? Why? 

Hogan. — He says your demned old hulk is — hie — unlucky. 

Letheby. (indignantly.) The "Star of the Sea" unlucky? 
How? 

Hogan. — Whin the boat — hie — was christened, at Belfast, 
didn't the bottle of champagne — hie — flop into the water with- 
out even — hie — breaking? 

Letheby.— Well, what of that? 

Hogan. — It's a hie — bad omen, sir, — hie — damn bad omen. 

Letheby. — Superstitious coward! to disappoint and hamper 
me so ! But begone all of you ; I'll get a new captain and crew 
from Hoydore. ( This boat must not sail today. — going R. ) 

Campion. — Wait, father ; perhaps I can be of some assistance 
to you (crosses to C. — note — Jem and peasants have entered 
quietly) Men, you know me as a sailor as well as a soldier, do 
you not? 

Fishermen. — Aye, aye, Cap'n, 

Campion. — Will you sail under me as captain of the "Star 
•of the Sea?" 

Fishermen. — Aye, aye, Cap'n. 

Campion. — Now, Father, I volunteer to captain your schoon- -- 
er on her trial trip. 

Jem (to peasants) Boys, a cheer for Captain Campion — 
cheer — 
' Letheby. — But, Captain, your duty as an officer of the crown. 

Campion. — That's all right, father. I am on a furlough 
for a week — enough time to take our schooner out and return. 

Letheby. (taking his hand) Sir, I am infinitely obliged to 
you. 

Campion. — Pray, don't mention it, sir. Now, men, get aboard 
aiid prepare to weigh anchor. I will join you presently. 

Fishermen. — Aye, aye, Capt'n (move towards small boat up 
stage. 



-39— 



Campion, (restraining Hogan) Stop! you, I don't want 
you aboard. 

Hogan. — Arrah, why not, Captain dear? Shure the priefet 
has hired me. 

Campion. — No matter/ you're drunk. Besides, I know you. 
of old for a cut-throat dog. 

Hogan. — Is it me, Captain, dear? " 

Campion, (sternly) Enough ! Take off that oil skin. 

Hogan. (trembling and aside) If he finds this auger, I'll 
be kilt. (Aloud) Oh, Captain dear — 

Campion, (shaking him) Enough, I say. Off with that coat 
— shakes him again and auger falls to ground (Campion picks 
it up) Halloa, what's this? an auger? 

Jem. — Treachery ! 

Compion. (seizing Hogan and forcing him to his knee) 
Scoundrel, what were you going to do with this? Speak. 

Hogan. (trembling violently) Sink her, Captain. 

Campion.^Sink her? 

Hogan. — Yiss; but oh, don't be hard on me. It's me mas- 
ter's at the bottom of it all. ^ 

Campion. — Your master? Who? 

Hogan. — Mr. Fagan, sir. 

Omnes. — Fagan ! 

Hogan. — Yiss ;here's some of the notes he gave me to do the 
dirty work (hands note to Campiori, who turns them over to 
Letheby.) ' 

Campion. — Dog, you ought to be shot for this (yanks him 
to his feet) ,but begone, and remember that if I ever catch yon 
or your hellish master again in Kilronan, I'll have you both 
strung up to the nearest tree. 

Jem. — An' if you don't, Captain, I will — kicks Hogan off L. 

Campion, (with Hogan's oilskin and hat in his hand) Now^ 

(Sailors row off R. in small boat.) 
boys we're a man short. Which of you knowsi anything about 
sea-faring? 

Murphy, (laughing) Jem Deady does, sir — he's a piolet. 

Jem. — Well, Captain, me regular trade is climbin' roofs in- 
stead of masts. 

Campion. — Oh, I guess we can use you aboard all right. 

—40— 



Jem (taking coat and hat.) Well, here goes (retires up stage 
with peasants to don oilskin and hat.) 

Campion. — Now, father, I think I'll go up to the castle, 
change my dress and take leave of Beatta. 

Letheby. — I'm afraid the dear girl will be much disturbed 
about your going on this trip. 

'Campion. — I'll explain all to her satisfaction (exit with Lethe- 
byL.) 

Murphy. — sui'veying Jem now dressed as fisherman. — Be- 
gor, Jem, but you're the picture of old neptune himself. 

Jem. — If I only had his three-cornered pitch-fork. 

Mike (taking his hand.) Well, good-bye, Jem. A pleasant 
trip and a big catch. But remember Jem, whatever you do, 
don't forget you're a pilot (exit with peasants L. laughing.) 

Jem. — Arrah, go long, ye landlubbers, that don't know the 
difference betune a whale an' a rhinosorsoros (goes up C.) 
Halloa, the ship's boat is gone off without me. Niwer mind, 
I'll wait for the Captain's gig. Begor I feel like a fish out of 
wather in these clothes. I wonder what Mrs. D'Arcy an' the 
orphans would say, if they could only see me now (dances 
about the stage in sailor fashion.) 

(Enter Mrs. D'Arcy, with Jamesey and Mary — starts at seeing 
Jem.) 

Mrs. D. — well in the name of goodness, Jem Deady, phwai 
are ye doin' in thim clothes? Surely to hiven ye haven't turned 
fisherman. 

Jem. — You've said the word, Mrs. D'Arcy. I'm off in his 
Riverence's boat in a jift'y. So, good-bye, me darlint! 

Mrs. D. (affected) Yerra, Jem, ye wouldn't be after lavin' 
mesilf an' the orphans that way, would ye ? 

James. — Don't go away, Jem, I don't want you to. 

Mary. — Stay home, Jem, I'd be so lonesome without you. 

Jem. (puzzled and aside.) Begorrah, I'd habe to be a stone 
to refuse them childer. (aloud.) Well, me good woman, I didn't 
think ye'd take my goin' away so hard ; I'm mighty sorry ; but, 
ye see, it's me duty. 

Mrs. D. — Duty, is it? Musha thin, how many times have ye 
towld me that your only duty now in the world was by mesilf 
and the orphans here? Oh, but now I see what a goose I was 



-41— 



to be listenin' to ye. 'Twas all blarney, all blarney (crosses to 
L. ) Men are all desavers, bas desavers. 

Jem. — All but one, Mrs. D'Arcy — an' that's mesilf. (aside 
and looking off to sea R.) Begorrah, what a change has come 
over that fishin' schooner all of a sudden. It don't seem as 
invitin' now as it was. I wonder if it's really unlucky, as they 
say (aloud) Well, Mrs. D'Arcy, if I hadn't given me word to 
the Captain and the priest — - , 

Mrs. D. — Yerra, the priest'd nivver ax ve to keep your word, 
if he knew ye wor engaged to be married. 

Jem ("greatly surprised.) Engaged to be married, is it? Be- 
gorrah thin that's news to be. 

Mrs. D. — Ye know well enough what I mane. Ye've been 
courtin' me for the last six months, ain't ye? 

Jem, — Yiss, an' for the last six years too. 

Mrs. D. — Well, thin, phwat kind of a father do ye expect to 
make for thim orphans, if ye take up the fishin' trade an' keep 
a runnin' in an' out to sea an' riskin' your life every minute? 
Shure ye might as well not be a father at all,j at all. 

Jem (reflectively) Musha thin I nivver thought of that 
(aside) What's this quare feelin' comin' over me at all, at all? 
Begorrah, I think I'm gettin' seasick already — aloud — well, 
Mrs. D'Arcy, considerin' your tinder remarks an' the kind feel- 
in 's of the orphans here, though I hates to break my word to 
the Captain an' the priest, still I'll promise to stay at home an' 
work at me owld trade — repairin' the roof of the chapel again — 
but only on one consideration. 

Mrs. D. — What do ye mane, Jem? 

Jem. — That ye consint to have the banns of marriage betune 
us published at high Mass nixt Sunday. 

Mrs. D. (cooly) Yerra, Now, that's rather soon, ain't it, 
Jem ? 

Jem. — It's sooner than waitin' for swallows to wear overcoats, 
yiss. But ye consint, don't ye? 

Mrs. D (falling in his arms.) I'm speechless. 

Jem (embracing.) Darlint of me heart ^ swing back and 
forth, with children embracing and imitating their action.) 
Begorrah, I'm as happy as a clam at high water. Yerra, Mrs. 
D'Arcy that is an' Mrs. James Deady, that is to be — doe ye 

—42— 



know, fishin' was nivver like this (embracing.) (noise of people 
talking off L.) Halloa here they come to see the captain an' 
the boat off. They musn't see me or I'll be put down for a 
desarter (disturbed.) Oh, me duty, me duty, what'U I do at all, 
at all? 

Mrs. D. (taking his arm.) Do, is it, why, come along wid 
your future spouse of course. You'll find duty enough in the 
world; but love, thrue Irish love, a widdy's heart, an' two 
blissed orphans, ain't found hangin' on every bush. 

Jem (pulling children to him.) Come along me blissed an- 
gels, I'm your Daddy now for shure. (exit with Mrs. D. and 
children R.) 

(Enter L., Letheby, Fr. Dan, Campion, Beatta and Onnsby.) 

Campion. — There, there, child. Don't take on so. After 
all, it's only for a few days at sea. Besides, I should be lone- 
some up at that old castle with you and Ormsby away on your 
wedding tour. 

Beatta. — Oh, but the sea is so treacherous, father. Look at 
those dark clouds gathering on the horizon. 

Campion. — Only a squall, my dear. Tell her it's all right, 
Ormsby. You know all about the sea. Tell her there's no 
danger, (passes her gently to Ormsby, L.) 

Ormsby. — Be of good cheer, dear wife. AH will be well. 

Campion (taking his hand.) Good-bye, Father Dan. 

Fr. Dan. — God's blessing on you, sir. 

Campion. — Good-bye, Fr. Letheby. 

Letheby. — Good-bye, Captain ; and may God guide and pros- 
per you. 

Campion. — He certainly will, for your sake, (about to enter 
row boat which has returned with orasman, when Beatta runs 
to embrace him.) Once more, my child, good-bye. In all the 
happiness of your honeymoon, remember and pray for me.' 

Beatta. — With all my heart, father. And now won't you 
take this and use it sometimes? (holding up rosary to him in 
boat. )x 

Campion. — What is it, my dear? 

Beatta. — My rosary (He takes rosary beads, kisses them, 
puts them slowly in his pocket, and kisses her— then to Ormsby 
who is standing near. ) 

(Note: A strain of the ''Rosary'^ to be played here. Last 
sentence.) ^3 



Campion. — Ormsby, my boy, take good care of, my angel. 
Good-bye, good-bye all (Is rowed off in the boat R.) (amid the 
waving of hands by all on stage. Rather long pause. ) 

Beatta. — How beautifully she rides the waves! But, oh, 
how I dread those clouds. 

Ormsby. — Don't worry dearest, but come, we have but little 
time to catch our train, you know. 

Beatta. — Oh, I was forgetting (crosses to Letheby.) Your 
Reverence, did I do wrong to try and dissuade my father? 

Letheby. — Not at all, my child. Your anxiety was only 
natural. But be of good cheer. Your father is a brave man 
and knows not danger on land or sea, 

Beatta. — It was the danger of his soul that I was speaking of. 

Letheby. — Yes, I know. But pray on, my child, and despair 
not of his salvation. Your father, I think, is on the road back 
to God. 

Beatta. — Repentant? Oh, Father, are^^you sure? 

Letheby. — As sure as his own words, uttered to me in all 
sincerity this morning, can make me. 

Beatta. — Thanks be to God! Now I am indeed happy and 
I will not be afraid, (runs over to Fr. Dan.) After all. Daddy 
Dan, clouds can do no harm, can they? 

Fr. Dan. — Only when they bring lightning, my child. 

(Train whistle off L.) - 

Beatta (excitedly.) Gracious! there's our train, (repeat 
whistle and noises of approaching train.) Good-bye Fr. Letheby 
(waving to him quickly.) Come, Daddy Dan, you must see us 
as far as the station, (to Ormsby, who is standing w^aiting L.) 
Hurry, Captain, how slow you are ! (runs off jubilantly on his 
arm, followed by Fr. Dan.) 

Letheby (alone, enrapt, looking out to sea R.) At last I 
have topped the pinnacle of success. Sail on, O "Star of the Sea," 
and prosperous be the voyage for my people's sake! (Exit 
dreamily R.) 

(Note. — Begin to darken stage for storm.) 

(Enter Fagan off cliff L., where he remains during soliloquy.) 

Fagan. — Blasht that Hogan and his drinkin'. His rotten 
whiskey has cheated we out of me revinge, I'm afeerd. It 
looks now, as if the "Star of the Sea" would pass thim sunken 
rocks in safety, after all me painst to sink her. I'll bet me hat 

—44— 



the drunken fool niwer losi&ed her rudder at all. Damn! 
(pause) But wait. His factory is left (looking off L.) Yiss ; an' 
the girls are out on strike over Nance. (thinking.). I have it! 
While they're out of the place, I'll steal in unbeknownst — an' 
set it on fire. "^Ha, Ha! (gloating.) Why didn't I think of 
that beofre? Yiss! the fire's the thing; the fire's the thing, 
(exit L. over cliff, rubbing hishands in fiendish glee.) 

(Enter Alice and Mary. Also Fr. Dan from opp. directions.) 
. Fr. Dan. — And how are you feeling these days, Alice? 

Alice. — Happy, Daddy Dan, Oh, so happy; but I fear it 
won't last for long. 

Fr. Dan. — What! you're not going to heaven so soon, are 
you? 

Alice. — Oh, dear no. But Mr. Ormsby says he is going to 
bring back with him a great, great doctor from Dublin to cure 
me ; and I don't want to be cured at all. 

Fr. Dan. — Still, My child, we're bound to try every natural 
remedy, but, if all else fails we must leave you in the hands 
of the Great Physician. 

Alice. — That's what I should like best. Daddy Dan. 

(Fii^t peal of thunder.) 

Mary. — Oh, father, hear the thunder ! 

Fr. Dan (going up C, and looking off R.) Yes, and it bodes 
no good, I'm afraid for the ''Star of the Sea." 

Alice. — No, No, God will not permit harm to come to dear i 
Fr. Letheby's schooner. 

Fr. Dan. — God sometimes works in very mysterious ways, 
my child, so now I want you to pray for my new Curate. 

Alice.— Pray, Daddy Dan? Why? 

Fr. Dan (slowly.) Because something tells me he will soon 
have crosses like yourself. 

Alice. — Oh, not blindness, I hope.- 

Ff. Dan. — Not as bad as that perhaps, but crosses of his own. 

Alices — Oh, I should be so sorry. 

Fr. Dan. — Because you want sorrow and heaven all to your- 
self. What a selfish little saint you are. 

. Alice. — I'm not &■ saint at all. Daddy Dan ; but Fr. Letheby 
iSy and why should he be punished with crosses? 

Fr. Dan. — Why indeed, my child, except for the reason, 
"Whom the Lord loveth, He chasteneth." 

—45— 



(Lightning and (thunder, followed by uproar off stage L.) 

Girls (off stage L.) Outcast! outcast! away with her. 

Fr. Dan. — My soul, if it isn't the factory girls driving poor- 
Nance before them. 

Enter Nance, running before the factory girls L. Enter 
Lethebyby R. — she runs to him for protection and kneels.) 

Girls. — Outcast! outcast! away with her (with uplifted, 
threatening hands.) 

Letheby. — Girls, girls, for shame ! 

Nance. — Save me father, lest they kill me. 

Letheby. — Unfeeling wretches, what would you do? 

Girls. — Stone her — she's a sinner. ' 

Letheby. — Yes, in your uncharitable eyes, that is the brand 
of scorn she wears. But I tell you that in heaven before the 
angels of God there is supreme happiness for this woman's do- 
ing penance. Let the one that is without sin among you cast 
the first stone. 

Forelady. — Well, she's an outcast. We won't work with her. 

Letheby. — ^who arei you that you should discriminate? Are^ 
you better than the Redeemer? Mark you, there was in old 
Jerusalem a woman such as this (pointing to Nance kneeling 
beside him.) her sins as red as scarlet — her name a hissing and 
a by-word on every tongue. But she heard of Christ, of His 
power and of His miracles, and polluted though she was, she 
would go to Him. And she found Him as He sat at the feast 
of the Pharisees, and she knelt at His sacred feet repentant and 
in tears. And not a Pharisee of them all but thought that He 
would spurn her, even as she knelt. But He, reading their 
hearts and hers, opened His sacred lips to pronounce her sen- 
tence. And what was that sentence? ''Because she hath loved 
much, much is forgiven her. Woman, go in peace, thy sins are 
forgiven thee." 

(Lightning and loud crash of thunder at sea R.) 

Fr. Dan (who during above speech, has been standing on 
rock.) Something is wrong with the"Star of the Sea." (Up 
stage C. looking off to sea.) Father come here. 

Letheby (running up cliff.) Yes, yes, she seems adrift and 
dragging on the rocks. Heavens, here rudder must be broken. 

Fr. Dan. — God forbid in such a place and such a storm ! 

—46— 



(Note. — Factory girls group up stage L., gradually male peas- 
ants and a group of merchants join in the scene and show in 
pantomime fear at what is supposed to be passing off stage R. C. 
— rain.) 

Mary. — It's beginning to rain, sister. 

Alice. — Yes, let us make our way home. Come, Nance. 

Nance. — Home? Alas! what home have I? 

Alice. — My house is open to you. You shall live with mother 
and me. 

Nance (sadly) No, Alice. I have done you a terrible wrong. 
My curse has made you blind. You cannot forgive ; you cannot 
take me under your roof. 

Alice. — Nance, I have long since forgiven you. All the 
world else may despise and forsake you, but I love you. 

Nance (looking at her won deringly.) No? 

Alice. — Yes, yes, even as a sister. (Nance falls on her shoul- 
der.) 

(Particularly fierce lightning and thunder, etc., a rumbling 
and grinding heard off R.) 

Letheby. — Great God ! She's on the ledge — a wreck, — 
Merciful heaven, is there no help? (all on stage excited.)' 

Fr. Dan (coming down C.) Alice, Nance, Mary, all of you, 
■ down on your knees and pray — pray as you never prayed before 
— for the souls of Captain Campion and his men. (all peasants 
on knees — merchants remain standing.) 

Letheby (in agony on cliff.) She sinks — she sinks — and the 
men leap into the raging sea. Oh, God (putting his hands 
before his eyes.) 

Fr. Dan (praying.) '^Out of the depths I have cried to Thee, 
O Lord, O Lord, here my voice." 

Peasants (responding.) ''And let Thine ears be attentive 
to the voice of my supplication." 

Letheby (extending his hands towards the sea, and speak- 
ing as if to throw his voice far over the waters.) Oh, you poor 
souls dying in that storm and sea, by the power of Almighty 
God, delegated to me, His priest, I absolve you from all your 
sins. 

(Fire and smoke off L.) 

Fr. Dan. — Look, father, look, your factory's on fire. 

—47— 



Letheby (tumbling down cliff.) My God, Father Dan, ruined 
— ruined! (drops to feet of Fr. Dan. at C.) 

Fagan (Who. has entered unseen among the peasants rush- 
ing to R. C. with the group of excited merchants.) No not you, 
ruined — but thim — the merchants (pointing to his R.) bank- 
rupt — robbed! Away with him! to jail with him (rushes 
fiendishly to seize the kneeling Letheby.) 

Fr. Dan (quickly.) Back; nor dare to touch the annointed 
of God! 

Here Fr. Dan flashes in the air a crucifix (illuminated) or a 

cross of light on the drop curtain — at the same instant a terrible 

crash of thunder and a lightning bolt — electric effect — comes 

from the flies, striking Fagan, who drops dead with a loud shriek 

(Merchants bending over Fagan.) Dead! 

Picture 

Curtain. 



ACT IV. 

( 

Scene : — same as act I. 

Letheby (discovered seated L. of table, disconsolate.) 

Letheby. — Bankrupt! Bankrupt! Oh, the shame of it. De- 
feated, routed, ruined ! But today a week ago the world seemed 
so bright with roseate hope. Today it is a blank — dark, dismal, 
black with disgrace indelible as the biting of a burning acid. 
And for the years to come no prospect but dishonor. — Bankrijpt I 
Bankrupt ! 

(Enter Fr. Dan L.) 

Fr. Dan. — Sh ame, still brooding? Tut, tut, come, let 

us take a walk. The sea air will do you good, work the cob- 
webs off your brain. 

Letheby. — -Oh, I have had enough of the sea and its works. 

Fr. Dan. — Man alive, wher is you courage? Or, do you 
think you have a monoply of all the^-misfortune in the world?- 
Tut, tut, think of poor blind Alice Moylan. Is your trouble 
greater than hers, or is your faith less? — 

Letheby. — Alice Moylan is a saint. 

Fr. Dan. — ^Well, imitate her then. And again, think of that 

—48— 



. poor ^child, Beatta, returning this day from a broken wedding 
trip to a fatherless fireside. 

Letheby. — Her sorrow will be healed in time. But what will 
cure dishonor? 

Fr. Dan. ^Dishonor? 

Letheby. — Yes. Am I not a hopeless insolvent? Not a 
shilling in the world. And yet I am security, sole security, for 
those merchants, whose savings of a lifetime I guaranteed to 
protect and preserve, and that I am bound to do on every prin- 
ciple of honor. 

Fr. Dan. — Well, looking at it in its worst light, insolvency 
is not dishonor. 

Letheby. — In a priest it is the acme of dishonor. — rises and 
crosses to bookcase L. — , 

(Enter Mrs. D'Arcy.) \ 

Mrs. D. — Your Riverence, a committee of merchants is at 
the door. 

Letheby. — My creditors after their money. 

Fr. Dan. — Well, never mind. Don't worry. They can't 
get blood out of a stone. I'll face them for you. (going R.) 

Letheby.— No, Father Dan, this is my cross, and I will bear 
it alone. Mrs. D'Arcy, admit the gentlemen. — exit Mrs. D. R. — 

Fr. Dan. (aside) Poor soul! there's no persuading him. It 
breaks my heart not to be able to help him, but sure I'm as poor 
as a church mouse myself. Qh, how I wish Ormsby were only 
here. 

(Fr. Dan exits R., as merchants enter R. He looks them over 
as he exits, with a gesture of despair. Note : — The chairmeyi of 
the merchants is a consequential looking Englishman, who 
hems and haws during the following scene : ) 

Chairman. — Mr. Letheby — we — er — have come, sir — 

Letheby. — I understand, gentlemen. You have come to 
inquire what is going to be done about the ill-fated "Star of the 
Sea." 

Chairman. — Precisely, sir. What is — er — going to be done? 

Letheby. — I will pay you back every farthing, principal and 
interest as soon as I am able. 

Chairman. — Hum ! as soon as you are — er — able. That will 
be — er — doomsday, I suppose. You will remember, sir, that it 

—49— 



was — er — only at your repeated solicitations that we — er — con- 
sented to advance our money out of our hard earnings. 

A merchant. — Hard enough, begor, and got by honest labor. 

Chairman. — Pardon me, Mr. Blake, but perhaps I could ex- 
plain to the Reverend gentleman in — er — more satisfactory 
manner. 

Letheby. — Pardon me, sir, but there is simply nothing to be 
explained. The boat is at the bottom of the sea, and I'm in- 
debted to you gentlemen in the sum of two thousand pounds and 
interest. 

Chairman. — Er — er — ahem! Er — pardon me, sir but that 
is not all. You seem to forget, sir, that we are — er — accustomed 
to repose in our — er — clergymen th — er — deepest confidence, 
sir. 

Letheby. — And how have I forfeited that confidence, may I 
ask? Am I to blame for the acts of nature? Am I to be held 
responsible for the villainy of that dead monster, Mr. Fagan ? 

Chairman. — That is not the point, sir. The — er — fact is, we 
relied entirely upon your word of honor and — er — did not de- 
mand the — er — usual securities for our money. Consequently, 
we — er — find ourselves in a very awkward predicament, our 
money gone, sir, and no redress but the — er — law, sir — the law, 

Letheby (injured.) You doubt my word of honor? 

Chairman. — We — er — have been deceived, sir. 

Letheby (indignant.) Deceived? Pray, how? 

Chairman ( doggedly. ) We have been deceived, sir. 

Letheby.- — Sir, are you aware that your language approaches 
very close to insult? 

Chairman. — The truth's the truth, sir. That boat was' a' 
swindle from beginning to end, and we know it. (firmly.) 

Merchants. — Yes, a swindle, a swindle. 

(Jem enters quietly and unobserved P.) 

Letheby. — Gentlemen, I must declare this interview at an 
end and ask you to retire. 

Chairman. — Ask us to retire with our money in your pocket? 
Turn us out, sir, and by pleasantness, "please be good enough 
to leave my house." 

Jem (rolling up sleeves.) Say the word, your Riverence, an' 
I'll pitch the whole bloomin' lot into the sea. 



-50- 



Chairman (retiring grumblingly with the others.) We go, 
sir — but in our place will come the bailiffs, two of them sir, the 
— er — representatives of the law, sir. They are outside even 
now, sir, awaiting our orders to — er — proceed and attach, sir-^ 

Jem (pushing him out the door R.) Attach an' be damned to 
ye. (exeunt chairman and merchants R.) 

Jem. — Poor gintleman, poor gintleman. To think of all " 
his trouble an' no one to help him (sits at table C.) Oh, wirra, 
wirra, wirra! To think of him lying in the cold debtor's jail 
on the stone floor wid nothing to eat but the black bread an' the 
sour wather. Oh, wirra, wirra, wirra! (rises and goes to win- 
dow.) Yiss ; thim's two .bailiffs shure enough. But, by the holy 
St. Patrick! they'll nivver touch his Riverence or anythin' 
belongin' to him, except over my dead body. No, ye divils, 
come, come an' thry it. Come on I say, come on (squares off, 
and rushes around stage wildly, fighting imaginary bailiffs; 
finally drops into chair C.) (with his head in his hands.) 

Mrs. D. (who has entered during the above business and 
seen Jem's antics with surprise.) In the name of hiven, Jem * 
Deady, phwat's the matter wdd ye now? 

Jem. — Go way woman, I'm half mad wid thinkin'. 

Mrs. D. — Wid drinkin' ye mane. It's the daylirius trimmers 
ye have got again, ye vagabond. Oh, but me heart's broke wid 
ye entoirely. Why did I ivver marry ye at all, at all? (sobbing.) 
An' me wid thim two blissed orphans on me hands (goes to 
window.) (looks out and then returns to him.) Wake up ye 
omadhaun. Is it after slapin' ye'd he wid thim two Dublin 
Jackeens outside awaitin' to pounce down on his Riverence, and 
all that belongs to him? (looking at him with contempt.) You're 
a fine A. 0. H., ain't ye? 

Jem. (rising.) Tare an' hounds! Flesh and blood! can't 
stand this, (thinks of something suddenly, rushes to hatrack 
and takes cassock and beretta.) I have it! Get me a Roman 
collar phwile you'd be sayin' sharp sticks (beginning to get 
into cassock.) 

Mrs.^.-'^A Roman collar, Jem? 

Jem (dressing.) Yiss; a priest's collar and necktie (a knock 
on outside door R.) quick they're comin'. 

Mrs. D. — Oh, it's mad he is, ravin' mad (exit L.) 



-51— 



Jem (surveying himself dressed in cassock and beretta.) 
Me mother always wanted me to be a priest an' begorrah I'm 
one at last. 

(Re-enter Mrs. D. with. Roman collar, which she helps Jem to 
adjust.) 

Jem.- — Now, me good spouse, run over to the ale-house and tell 
the ''Holy Terrors" to come here in a jiffy. I may need thim 
in case of emergency. 

Mrs. D. (alarmed.) Emergency, Jem? Musha, in the name 
of hiven and thim blissed orphans, phwat would ye be doin' at 
all, at all? (another knock at the door.) 

Jem. — Doin' is it? Begorrah, I'm goin' to give thim a run 
for their money, they'll nivver forget the longest day they live. 
' Mrs. D. — Oh, Jem, me darlint, I knewye wouldn't desert the 
priest in his trouble (embraces Jem.) 

Jem (pushes her away.) Stop that woman — Remimber the 
cloth (pointing to the cassock.) (loud knock R.) (Mrs. D. goes 
to door.) 

Jem (softly to her — at the door.) Psh! Listen. Introduce 
me as his riverence — Fr. Letheby, D. D. 

Mrs. D. (In surprise.) Fr. Letheby? 

Jem. — Yiss; don't forget the D. D. (exit Mrs. D. Jem takes 
a book from case and sits L. of table C, Avith a very dignified 
air.) Now X hopes I didn't lose me timper. * 

Mrs. D. (Shows in Diggins and Bobbs, bailiffs, R.) 

Mrs. D. — This way gintlemen. There's himself ye're after, 
Fr. Letheby, D. D. (making a lot of the D. D.) 

(Note: Diggins is tall and dignified; Bobbs, an Englishman, 
with cockney dialect, is short, ner\^ous and fretful. 

Diggins. (trying to attract Jem's attention.) Ahem, sir, 
ahem! 

Jem (without looking from book.) Go away woman; can't 
ye see I'm studyin' me sermon for nixt Sunday mornin'? 

Diggins (louder.) Ahem, sir, ahem! 

Jem (same bus. as before.) ahem yourself. 

Diggins. — Excuse this interruption, Mr. Letheby, but we are 
the bailiffs. 

Jem (turning and affecting surprise.) Oh, so ye are (rises.) 
Sit down, ye divils, an' give your horns a rest. 

*Local announcements can be funny here. 

—52— 



Bobbs. (amazed at language) 'Orns, sir, 'orns? 

Jem. — Oh, excuse me, gintlemen, I was only quotin' a part of 
one of me sermons (going to arrange chairs for them at R. C.) 

Bobbs. (to himself) 'is sermons must be full of 'ell fire. 

(Is about to sit, when Jem from behind pulls the chair from 
under him and he sprawls on the floor — Mrs. D. all the while 
trying to keep from laughing. ) 

Jem. (lifting up Bobbs) Are ye hurt, man (Bobbs grunts.) 

Bobbs. (aside) If he wasn't a reverant, I'd a said he'd did that 
on poipose. 

Jem. (resuming seat at left of table.) Well, gintlemen, I sup- 
pose ye've come after me proputty. 

Diggins. (looking over bunch of legal papers.) Yes; and T 
regret to say, your person, if your property be not sufficient to 
satisfy the several executions (showing seals of papers to audi- 
ence.) 

Jem. (rising and rolling up sleeves.) Ho ! Ho ! so there's goin' 
to be an execution, is there? Well, thin, I guess I know who's 
goin' to be the executioner^ 

Mrs. D. (bursts into loud guffaw and runs out.) 

Bobbs (very nervous, goes to door, returns to Diggins and 
aside) Diggins I don't loike that laff. (Eyes everything in the 
room suspiciously.) 

Diggins. — Nonsense, Bobbs. (aloud) As I was saying, Mr. 
Letheby — 

Mrs. D. (through window) The boys is comin'. (disappears.) 

(Diggins and Bobbs rise and turn about as if to discover the 
source of voice — Bobbs very ners'ous.) 

Diggins. — What was that? 

Jem (seated) I heard nuthin'. Did ye? 

Diggins. — solemnly — I thought I heard a woman's voice say- 
ing "The boys are coming." 

Jem.-^Not at all, man, not at all. This house is haunted, 
that's all. 

Diggins and Bobbs. (together and staring at him.) Haunted? 

Jem. — Yiss by the ghost of a bailiff that dropped dead onst 
in that very chair of yours^-pointing to Diggins'. chair — 

(Bus. with chair by Diggins and Bobbs.) 

Bobbs (aside to Diggins) Diggins, I smell trouble. Think 

—53— 



we'd best remove to proputty at once, sir. 

Diggins. — You're right, Bobbs, (Aloud.) Begin with the- 
books. 

(Bobbs crosses Diggins and starts towards bookcase — is inter- 
cepted by Jem.) 

Jem (assuming defiant attitude.) Not a single book (pushes. 
Bobbs.) 

Diggins (advancing with authority) Mr. Letheby, reflect, 
what you are doing, sir, defying the law. 

Bobbs (trembling behind Diggins) Haye, her Majesty's law^ 

Diggins. — And furthermore reflect, sir, that if you refuse to 
permit us to remove your personal property, we shall be under 
the painful necessity of taking your body, sir. 

Bobbs (bus. as before) Haye, harresting you, sir (Jem waves 
at him contemptuously.) 

Jem. — Oh, no you won't, ) 

Diggins (advancing with Bobbs behind him) We certainly 
shall, sir. i 

Jem (facing them) You shall not, sir (pushes his stomach 
against Diggins and both he and Bobbs sprawl backwards.) 
Now be aisy (as they pick themselves up.) 'Tis for your own 
good I'm spakin'. Sit down an' I'll tell you why (they sit 
down again.) (Presently peasants with Mrs. D. are seen peeking 
at window.) As a priest it is my duty to inform ye that there 
ain't in all her Majesty's dominions a more flendish set of 
ruffians than right here in me own parish. And the most 
blood thirsty gang of thim all is a secret society of murderers 
called the ''Holy Terrors." 

Diggins. — Yes, we have already been warned to be on our 
guard against the villains. 

Bobbs. — Haye, an' especially against their leader. 'An 
houtrageous scoundrel by the name of — of (trying to recollect) 
—Jem — Jem Deady, sir. 

Jem. — But whist! (mysteriously) Don't mintion liis naoie- 
above a whisper — He's a divil incarnate. He eats raw meat. 
An' di'inks hot blood, bailiffs preferred — Bobbs in fright slips 
from chair to floor — But now to me point (sitting on table, and 
secretly making signals to the peasants to enter) What did this^ 
unhung bailiff-eater an' his gang of cut-throats do in this verj'- 
place not ten years ago? _. 

—54— 



Diggins and Bobbs. (faltering) Wh-what? 

Jem.— Well, sirs, there was a bailiff — jist like yourselves — 
an honest man — mind ye, as ever lived — came down here from 
Dublin — jist like yourselves — to serve papers on a priest — jist 
like meself — an' how did those murderin' villains treat that 
poor process sarver ? 

(Peasants are on, grouped behind the bailiffs.) 

Diggins and Bobbs (faltering) We — we don't know. 

Jem (Stepping in between them.) Well, me an' the Holy 
Terrors will show ye, eh boys? 

Peasants. — Shure, Jem, Hurroo! 

Diggins and Bobbs (in mortal terror.) J- Jem? (kneeling 
in fear.) 

Jem (removing cassock.) Yiss, ye divils, Mr. James Deady 
at your sarvice an' his particular friends; the Holy Terrors. 

Diggins and Bobbs (crouching together.) Mercy! Mercy! 

Jem. — Now ye process-sarvers, will ye go back to Dublin in 
peace or in peaces? 

Diggins and Bobbs. — In peace, in peace. 

Jem. — An' do ye swear nivver to come back? 

Diggins and Bobbs (holding up hand.) We — we swear; we 
swear. 

Jem. — Thin, the boys will escort ye as far as the station. 
Away with thim, boys, (peasants rush bailiffs R., passing win- 
dow off stage.) 

Mrs. D. (to Jem, putting on his coat.) Jem, me darlint, wid 
all your faults I love ye still, (embraces him.) 

Jem. — Stop that! This is no time for palaverin'. I must 
away wid the boys to the station. Hurroo ! (exits R. — shouts off 
stage L. as Letheby enters L. and goes to window C.) 

Letheby. — Mrs. D'Arcy, what's all this uproar about? 

Mrs. D. — It's only Jem and the boys seein' the bailiffs off to 
Dublin. Hurroo! ■ (runs out R.) 

Letheby. — More trouble and on my account! Bankrupt! 
Bankrupt! Ah, who could have foreseen this ending of it all? 
What a name I shall leave after me — Letheby — a word of warn- 
ing against shame and defeat (sits disconsolate at table C.) And 
I was growing so fond of my work — of my little home — =of my 
books — the sodalities — and "the little children (pauses awhile. 



-55- 



then rises with sudden determi^nation.) Oh, but this weakness 
is unmanly, unpriestly. Yes, now, with renewed confidence in 
God, I'll face the front again, conquer disaster and bury all my 
misfortunes in work, work, work, (goes to bookcase.) 

(Enter Alice, Mary and Nance, R. — Alice sits R.) 

All. — Good morning. Father. ^ 

Letheby. — Good morning, friends. 

Alice. — Father, Nance would speak with you. 

Letheby. — What is it Nance? 

Nance (advancing) Father, you have helped me in my 
trouble and I want to help you in yours. Please take this (offers 
money.) It's a little money sent me by my brother in America 
to pay my passage to go there and live with him — L. 

Letheby (gently) No, Nance; a thousand times I thank you, 
but no, no no. 

Nance. — Oh, do take it, poor man. I don't need it. I am 
strong and can work my passage over ; or if need be, my brother 
will wait till I earn the money over again. 

Letheby. — My good woman, again I thank you, but keep 
your money, go to your brother in America on the next ship, 
and in your new home in that land of promise, may every bless- 
ing of God attend you. 

Alice. — But, father, isn't there some way Nance and 1 can 
help you? 

Letheby. — Are you not helping me every day by your prayers 
and above all by your noble example? You, Nance, by your 
living down scorn and uncharitableness, have taught me how 
to face the hard world. And you, Alice, by your example of 
patience and endurance under suffering, oh, what an ineffable 
source of strength you have been to me! Where I, a priest, 
have wavered under the cross, you a child, have stood firm. 

Alice. — But, oh, father, where would I be today, if you had 
not shown me the Crucified behind the Cross? 

( Noise of carriage off stage. ) 

Mi-s. D. — Here comes our poor Beatta home at last. 

Letheby.— Now comes the hardest trial of all, to face the 
poor innocent whose father I sent to his untimely death. 

(Enter Beatta in mourning costume.) 

Omnes. — Welcome home, Beatta. 



-56— 



Beatta. — Thanks, friends, (crosses to table C.) Oh, father, 
how 1 have suffered. 

Letheby. — And I have been the unwitting cause of it all. 

Beatta. — No father ; God would have it so. But, oh, my poor 
father's soul, what of his soul? 

Letheby. — It rests, I think, with its Maker. 

Beatta. — Oh, if I could be sure of that. 

Letheby. — You may depend upon it with all faith. For 
even as the ''Star of the Sea" went down and your father and 
his crew were perishing in the angry waters, I myself pro- 
nounced over them a general absolution of their sins ; and the 
sole surviver of the disaster has since informed me that your 
father, as he was sinking for the last time opened his lips in 
prayer and held clasped in his hand a rosary. 

Beatta. — My rosary ! 

Letheby. — Yes; and with that rosary he knocked upon the 
gates of heaven, and they were opened unto him. 

Beatta. — Praise be to God. (rises) Now I am indeed happy, 
and I will weep no more. How happy my husband will be 
when he hears this. He's down the road now, father, with Fr. 
Dan, talking business with some merchants. 
I Letheby (aside) My creditors! 

Beatta (shaking hands Avith Nance.) Nance, how well you 
look. (Note: In this act, Nance is neatly dressed, showing a 
marked improvement in appearance.) And Alice, how are you 
feeling these day^? 

Alice. — My general health is much improved, Beatta; but 
my eyes remain the same. 

Beatta. — Poor soul ! But where there is faith there is hope. 
And so I have brought this from abroad, (produces a gold 
crucifix, rather large. ) 

Alice.- — What is it, Beatta? 

Beatta. — A crucifix from the shrine of the Blessed Virgin 
at Lourdes. It has been dipped in the holy waters and blessed 
by the Bishop of Lourdes himself. 

Letheby. — I have known these crucifixes to work miraculous 
cures among the faithful. 

Beatta. — Who knows, Alice, with your faith, what this may 
do for you? (giving her crucifix.) 



-57— 



Alice. — Thank you, Beatta, I'll keep it about me always and 
pray with it often. 

(Enter Orsmby and Fr. Dan. — R.) 

Ormsby (crossing and taking hand of Letheby.) Father! 

Letheby. — Welcome home, my friend. 

Fr. Dan. — Friend is the word, Fr. Letheby. What do you 
suppose he has just done for you? 

Letheby. — I'm sure I can't imagine. 

Ormsby. — Only a mere trifle. Father. 

Fr. Dan.— What? Only a mere trifle to pay all another 
man's debts? Well then, hereafter command Daddy Dan to 
all triflers. 

Letheby. — You have paid all my debts, sir? 

Fr. Dan. — That he has, father — not ten minutes ago- — with 
his. own check to your merchants creditors. 

Letheby (taking Ormsby 's hand.) Sir, I am eternally 
obliged to you. How shall I ever repay my indebtedness to 



you 



Ormsby (crossing to Beatta and taking her arm.) The in- 
debtednes is all on my side, Sir. You are my creditor for a 
priceless happiness of soul. 

(Darken stage and throw spot on Alice and the crucifix.) , 

Alice (holding crucifix before her and staring at it.) What 
a beautiful crucifix this is ! 

Beatta (crossing to her.) What's that you say, Alice? 

Alice. — Is not the cross of gold and the bod^'^ of silver? 

Beatta. — Yes, yes, do you really see that or only imagine it? 

Letheby (advancing to C.) What's this I hear? , 

Alice. — Wait ! — rising — \ 

Note: (Shift spot to picture of Madonna and Child.) 
^ Alice (w^alking slowly towards picture, holding, crucifix be- 
fore her.) Is not that a picture on the wall there? 

Letheby. — Yes, yes ; can you make out what it represents? 

Alice (staring at it and brokenly.) It's oh, it's — it's — the 
Madonna and the Child, (kneels before picture, while all look 
on amazed.) Oh, Blessed Virgin Mother, I knew you would not 
desert me. (rises and turns towards characters, pointing the 
crucifix in the direction of each as she names them.) (Note: — 
she does not mention Letheby, because up to now she has never 



—58- 



) 

seen his face.) Oh, Daddy Dan, I recognize you — Beatta — 
Nance — Mary — Mrs. D'Arcy — I recognize everybody — I see ! — 
thank God! I see! 

(Kneels holding out crucifix.) 

Letheby (As all bow their heads, except Alice.) Praise be to 
God from whom all blessings flow — 

Picture^ — Curtain. 

A. M. D. G. 

"A lesson of faith, fervor and sterling Irish piety combined 
wdth humor, pathos and rollicking Irish fun." 



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V 



